


Vegas, Baby

by WrecklessImagine



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Love, Marriage, Romance, Smut, Vegas, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:39:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrecklessImagine/pseuds/WrecklessImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a hung-over reader wakes up next to her co-worker, Spencer Reid, married and unable to recall the events of the previous evening?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shock

Stretching your arms out, you cringe as your head begins to pound. Putting your hand to your head, you slowly flip over, fiddling for a light. Finding a bedside lamp, your touch sends a bright light cascading into your puffy red eyes, causing you to knock it over as you recoil in disgust.

“Ah, fuck!”

As the lamp goes crashing to the floor, a groan emanates from the bed-place beside you.

What the hell...?

Watching the covers ebb and flow, a disheveled Spencer Reid emerges from the great beyond, a sea of blankets and pillows burying him as he wiggles, threatening to swallow him whole as he tries to find solid land.

“Huh?” he says absent-mindlessly, looking around the room with one eye open, trying to discern where he is.

At least you’re not the only one who’s confused.

As he looks over towards you, he jumps, pulling the comforter up over his naked torso. Watching him in sheer hilarity, you smirk as the events of the previous evening slowly start to flood back in to your mind.

“Ugh...so much drinking...” you murmur, holding your head in your hands as you sit up in the plush king size bed.

“At least we have clothes on,” he says, letting out the breath he was holding when he looked down and saw his own boxers.

“Way to make a woman feel beautiful, Reid,” you sarcastically retort, slinging yourself out of the bed as you fumble your way to the bathroom. “I gotta pee,” you mumble, scratching the itch on your left butt cheek.

“How lady-like,” Spencer mumbles under his breath, groaning and sinking back down into the covers.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to impress anyone,” you hiss, sitting down on the toilet and kicking the bathroom door closed.

Ah...finally. Some darkness.

Wiping yourself clean, you heave yourself off of the toilet, flushing everything down and standing haphazardly at the sink. Shaking your head, you turn on the cold water, splashing some in your face before dipping down and filling your cotton mouth with it’s cool essence.

You were so thirsty.

Gulping down the cold sink water and grabbing the nearest towel, you swallow one more time as you wipe your face off, slinging the towel to the side.

Or, at least trying to.

Feeling the towel get caught on something on your left hand, you shake it loose.

The fuck?

Feeling around on your hand, you feel something cool and hard on your ring finger.

Furrowing your brow, you flick the light on, your eyes widening at the sight in front of you.

A ring.

A diamond ring.

On your LEFT HAND.

“Reeeeeeid!” you yell, running out of the bathroom and crashing into the bed, throwing the covers every which way, grasping as you try to find his left hand.

“Y/L/N, get off!” he squeals, trying to push you off of him. But, alas, you have him pinned between your legs, his morning wood pushing against your thigh.

“Gross...” you lower your voice, jumping off of him as you finally see his left hand.

Grabbing it and pulling it close to your face, your jaw hits the ground as you lightly finger the gold band on his finger.

His left ring finger.

Getting up from the bed, you stumble back in shock, soon feeling the back of your knees hit a chair, urging you to sit down. You sit, slowly melding in to the chair as the reality of what has occurred slowly sinks into your conscious mind.

“What did we do?” you breathe into the air, Spencer gawking at his finger, blinking hard, trying to will it away.

“How much did we drink!?” he squeaks again, jumping out of bed and holding his head. “And where are my pants!?”

Rolling your eyes, you toss him his pants that were slung over the back of the chair, putting your head in your hands at the growing realization that, in your drunken state, you had actually married the intelligent know-it-all who never shuts up.

“Oh my god,” Spencer stops as he zips his pants up. “Did we...”

Rubbing your eyes, trying to will the headache away, Spencer’s voice gets higher. “Did we have sex!?”

“God, you really know how to wine and dine a woman,” you sigh, feeling the last ounce of beauty you had felt last evening drain away as you find yourself ever so slightly offended at his tone of voice.

“Well, it’s a damn good question!” he yells, “Because if we did get married last night, and we did-”

You hold up your hand to stop him, “We could’ve just spent money and bought rings. You don’t know we got married.”

Stomping over to the bedside table, he picks up a notepad with some scribble on it.

“Breakfast is at 8, and your horse-drawn carriage will be waiting at 9 to take you to the airport for your honeymoon destination!”

Feeling your eyes widen, you feel the grip anxiety slowly close around your throat.

“If we had unprotected sex, we need to get you some Plan B or something, because I know I don’t have any condoms on me,” Spencer continues to ramble as he paces around the room.

Sighing, you close your eyes and hold the bridge of your nose. “Is there blood on the bed?”

Stopping in his tracks, he looks at you with an astonished stare.

“Is there blood...on the bed?” you enunciate clearer, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard you.

Stomping over to the bed, he rips the covers off, seeing nothing but white sheets for days.

“No. No blood,” he says, grimacing at the idea.

“Then we didn’t have sex,” you sigh, feeling relief flood your body as you try to process the reality in front of you.

You and Spencer Reid, who...for all intents and purposes, couldn’t stand each other outside of work...had gone out, under Hotch’s command, to try and bond a little more while the team had finally acquired some time off, and had somehow ended up piss-drunk and married, sleeping in a wedding chapel honeymoon suite with a booked vacation that apparently started in...

Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s 7:36 am.

...one hour and 24 minutes.

Cursing Hotch under your breath, you slowly stand up, your knees wobbling as you try to stand. You could feel the emotion welling in your chest, and all you wanted to do was dip yourself back into the warm comforts of the bed and cry.

But you wouldn’t let him see that kind of emotion come from you.

It just wasn’t in your genes. To be that vulnerable with someone.

“Fucking Hotch,” you murmur, slowly looking around for your nightgown robe.

As Spencer looks at you, seeing your face attempting to suppress the emotion behind your eyes, he holds out his hand and touches your arm. “I didn’t mean for you to think that...that having sex with you would’ve been a bad thing.”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you look up at him as you crinkle your nose. “I don’t give a damn about what you were trying to do. I know I’m not pretty. It’s not a new thing that a man doesn’t want to sleep with me. You think I’m a virgin by choice?”

Taking a deep breath, you reign in the last of your emotion as you let out a huffed sigh.

“I mean” you say, forcefully softening your voice, “I just haven’t come across the right person yet. I’m glad I didn’t lose my virginity on a drunken mistake wedding night to a colleague who can’t stand my presence.”

As Spencer’s eyes widen in shock, he takes a step back and lowers his voice, “I never said that I didn’t like being around you. You just...argue all the time. You always have to be right, and you always have to pick a fight, even if you are just playing devil’s advocate.”

And he was right. Your home growing up had always been a tense place, and while you had a pretty good upbringing...loving parents and close familial ties...emotion was a weakness, something to be preyed upon. Everything was science and explanation and physical proof, and if you didn’t learn how to defend yourself quickly, or have an answer for every question from “Where are you going and why?” to “Why pick that particular movie and not this one?”, you were drowned.

It’s what made you so perfect for the FBI, but so terrible at outside human interaction.

Sighing deeper, you lean back into the chair, your nightgown hiking above your knees.

"Yeah, well, not everyone is a pleasant person to be around,” you retort, losing yourself in your memories of your childhood.

As Spencer continues to stare, obviously attempting to decipher what is going on with you, you get up and walk over to the edge of the bed, picking up your robe on the way and throwing it around your shoulders. You look up at his scared baby face and close your eyes as you flop your body back onto the bed, rolling up in the comforter and hoping to sink down into Narnia for all you cared.

“How long does an annulment take?” you murmur, massaging your temples under the comforter.

“6 weeks in the state of Nevada,” he robotically says.

“Well, better start the paperwork then,” you sigh, heaving yourself back into an upright position, allowing the pain of your headache to waft all the way down to your gut.


	2. Honeymoon

Sitting in the breakfast area with your bags in hand, you and Spencer gulp down glasses of water, neither of you having a particularly present appetite at the moment.

“Well, there’s the happy couple!” a jolly man with a pot belly bellows over the breakfast room. “How was the, uh…wedding night?” he asks, jostling Spencer with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows. “I bet she’s a bucker, huh?” he muses, winking at Spencer as his face flushes different shades of red.

Giggling at his uncomfortable state, you take the man by the hand and smooth out your voice. “Sir, I believe last night was, erm…was more conducted by our…altered state…than our hearts.”

“Ah…I see,” he says, sighing drastically, “We get a lot of those around here. Repressed people who want to let loose and open up, and before you know it, they’re married and asking for annulments.”

“T-then you can help us?” Spencer stutters, his face slowly returning back to its original color.

“Yes, I can…but it’s Saturday, kiddos,” he says, slapping Spencer’s shoulder. “No one can help you until Monday.”

Closing your eyes and sighing, you lean back into your chair as Spencer takes the reigns. “Sir? There was something about…uh…about a honeymoon written on a piece of paper in our suite?”

“Ah, yes. I wanted to write a little reminder for you guys! Sometimes couples get so caught up in the romance of things that they forget about it. I set up a wake-up call and everything!”

“Well.” Spencer says, adjusting himself in the chair, “That’s very kind of you…but, since we didn’t actually mean to get married…”

“Oh, I know what you’re saying,” the pot-bellied man holds up his hands. “And say no more, I can get you a refund for the honeymoon. Just give me one second.”

Hearing him sigh in relief, you gulp down the last of your water.

“Coffee. I need coffee,” you say, pushing your chair back as you grab your still-throbbing head, hustling over to the percolating coffee machine.

Swallowing hard, the emotion welling in your throat again, you bang your forehead against the machine, knowing that Spencer is watching but not caring about what he sees. You cannot believe you had been so reckless. How could you have been so careless!? You have been careful all of your life: careful not to get too drunk, careful not to fail any classes, careful to correctly defend your decisions in life, careful to choose the right college, careful not to make your parents upset, careful not to lose your virginity to any man willy-nilly…

Well, that one was easy…it’s not like you were brimming with possibilities.

Finally fixing your coffee, you venture back to your seat to a disappointed-looking Spencer.

“Don’t tell me…the honeymoon isn’t refundable.”

“Not the one we chose, no,” he says, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes with his palms.

Furrowing your brow, you couldn’t remember that part. “Did he happen to say which one it was?”

Nodding slowly, he says, “Yeah…something about a trip to a vineyard in California, a bed and breakfast on site, and-”

“-horse-drawn carriage rides every night until the sun sets?”

Furrowing his brow, he looks up at you for the first time since that morning. “You remember?” he says, sounding a little surprised, “That’s incredible, I can’t even remember that.”

“No…not exactly,” you say, casting your eyes down at your coffee cup, feeling your stomach start to retch again.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Spencer reaches out his hand and puts it on top of yours. “We’ll get ourselves out of this. We can go…since we are on vacation…have a good time, drink some wine, pamper ourselves a bit, and when we get back to work, we can remove our rings and wait patiently for the paperwork to push thru. The man says we can fill out all the stuff needed before we leave and stick it in the paralegal’s box to be processed on Monday.”

Nodding slowly to yourself, you felt your entire body wanting to shake.

A California vineyard and a horse-drawn carriage.

Even at your drunkest, you still couldn’t let go of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Filling out your side of the paperwork, you seal it in a manila envelope, along with Spencer’s, and push it thru the slot into the paralegal’s office.

“Someone will call you Monday morning to let you know that the paperwork has been sent thru the right channels, and once you receive email confirmation that the process has been started, it should take 6-8 weeks for the paperwork to finalize and annul the marriage.”

Nodding your head, the man helps you into the carriage, Spencer closely behind, as he continues to rattle off information.

“At some point in time during the process, someone will contact you both to make sure that you are still on track for the annulment. We aren’t expecting you to change your minds, but it helps us to double-check in case some romance has taken place,” he says as he leads you both out front.

“This carriage,” he continues, “…while not horse-drawn on account of one of the horses giving birth…will take you to the airport, which will then fly you in to California, where a driver will be waiting with a sign that says “The Reids” to take you to the BnB that you will be residing in for the next week.”

Nodding slowly, you sink back into your carriage chair. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were actually taking a honeymoon.

After getting married.

To the place where your heart had been broken.

How full-circle, you thought.

Hearing the door shut, the carriage jumps to life as the engine sputters, slowly carrying you off down the road.

“It won’t be that bad,” Spencer tries to reassure you. “Even if we only have one room, I can sleep on the floor, or the couch, and we can go off and do our own little things, and hey. Maybe they will have another room open, and we won’t even have to share!” he says hopefully, trying to lift your spirits.

“Yeah, sounds nice,” you robotically reply, gazing out the window at the slow-going scenery change as you approach the airport.

Getting out of the carriage, you shew Spencer’s hand away as he tries to help you out.

“I’m fine, Reid, I can get it myself,” you snip.

“Just trying to help,” he mutters, bending down and grabbing both of your bags.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning towards him, tugging your bag away from him. “This is just…an absolutely insane scenario!” you yelp, throwing your free hand above your head as the emotion pools in your chest. “I never expected to ever lose my virginity, much less get married, and here I am…married to a man that can’t stand my presence, who was forced to try and bond with me under his boss’s orders…and we wind up married.”

As Spencer licks his bottom lip slowly, gazing down at his feet, you chuckle lightly as you shake your head, “And I’m still a virgin!”

As you turn to walk towards the airport kiosk, ready to obtain your plane tickets, Spencer catches your arm, urging you to turn around and look at him.

“Y-you…you think I can’t stand your presence?” he asks, furrowing his brow as you sense the hurt in his voice.

Cocking your head, you take another deep swallow as the emotion threatens to overcome you again. “Spencer…now is not the time to get all sentimental. With all of the diva crap you threw back in the hotel room, I’m surprised I’m not in tears by how disgusted you are at the prospect of even waking up in the same room with me, much less waking up in the same bed and finding out that we are married,” you state matter-of-factly.

“I wasn’t…I didn’t…yo-”

You hold up your hand, closing your eyes as you feel the tears start to prickle, willing him to stop before this situation becomes even worse.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly let your hand drop, sighing deeply as Spencer is rendered speechless. You two obtain your tickets and check your suitcases, silently meandering thru the airport until you wind up at the huge illuminated flight board, both of your eyes darting around for your flight gate.

“Gate E4…” you mumble, looking down at your ticket, making sure that it matches before you start off.

“Yeah…E4,” Spencer says, looking back over at you, your eyes glazed over as you continue to stare up at the hypnotizing board.

“Y/N?” he says.

“Yeah?” you say, looking over at him, your eyes red but your tears never falling.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” he says, reaching for your shoulder. “I just…I was just as scared and taken aback as you were. I mean, you weren’t too enthused with my…well, you know…touching you and everything.”

Looking down at your feet, you slowly step away from Spencer’s body, feeling his heat radiate towards you.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel bad or…or not…desirable…in any way,” you say, stumbling over what words to use. “I mean, it would have been kind of weird if I would’ve said, ‘Oh, how nice. That feels nice newly-wedded brewery-husband of mine.’“

And as he lightly chuckles at your joke, the first smile since that morning slowly spread across your face as Spencer turns his body towards the hallway you two needed to navigate.

“Come on,” he says, his face slowly fading back to it’s original color, “The gate’s this way.”


	3. Virgin

The airplane ride over was a relief. The two of you were in completely different aisles, and you felt you had a little more room to breathe and process the day’s events.

Well, as much breathing room as you could have by the plane lavatory.

Spencer, trying to be a gentleman, had offered many times to take the lavatory seat so that you could sit in the emergency aisle, having a little more leg room to move. But, just as many times as he had offered, you had declined. You didn’t want anyone to have a first class seat to your show as you pressed your head up against the window, tears slowly trickling down your cheeks.

Jolting awake, flecks of dried up tears left over from your episode, you feel Spencer shaking your shoulder, his brow furrowed with concern. “Come on, Y/L/N, the plane has landed.”

As he studies your face, he chooses not to comment on the dried streaks you were so desperately trying to hide. You didn’t want to talk about it: the drunk wedding, the insults in the hotel room, the damn vineyard where your dreams had been crushed…

You didn’t want to talk about any of it.

As Spencer escorts you off of the plane, you weave your way thru one of the biggest airports in the country, finally coming upon the sight of a man holding up a sign that says, “The Reids.”

“Guess that’s us,” you mutter, walking over to the man with a plastered smile on his face.

“You must be Mr. and Mrs. Reid,” he says with a happy spring in his tone. “May I say, congratulations on your vows. I hope you find your stay enjoyable where you are going.”

“Thank you,” you squeak out, your hands trembling as you start to load your stuff into the car, refusing to let anyone else do it for you.

You were a woman, not a porcelain doll.

Sitting down in the car, you lean your head against the window. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart, and as Spencer climbs in beside you, he drops something in your lap.

A fruit salad.

“I see you eat them every morning at work,” he says, unwrapping his breakfast burrito.

Staring down at your colorful salad, tears prickle the back of your eyes again as you take your shaking hands and gently open it up.

It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you.

And that fact made it both endearing for Spencer, and pathetic for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blindly eating your salad, you finally pull up to the all-too-familiar BnB. As Spencer gawks at it, he makes some off-handed comment about the cost of this…but you didn’t catch it. Your eyes were on the hill.

The crest of the hill.

The tree on top of the crest of the hill, to be exact.

Feeling the door beside you give way, you steady yourself as you unbuckle your seat-belt, thanking the driver as he helps you climb out. Hearing the trunk pop, Spencer grabs both your bag and his, and as you go to protest he shoots you a look and says, “If he can help you out of the car, I can carry your bags.”

Sighing, you nod slightly as a grin crosses your face, trying to find a way to make the best out of this entire scenario. Walking into the sprawling estate, a quiet woman with a nice smile greets you at the front desk, and you catch Spencer staring a little too much at her in her glasses.

Nudging him and shooting him a look, he clears his throat and says, “Ah, yes…Reid.”

“A king size room?” she asks, looking up at the two of you.

And as you go to confirm the room, Spencer butts in, “Would it…erm…well, is there another room open at all. One that one of us could use?”

As she cocks an eyebrow at the two of you, you shuffle on your feet as you take a deep breath. You might as well throw the poor boy a bone. “Vegas wedding…lots of drinking…you know,” you say, casting your glance up as a smile broadens on her cheeks.

“Oh,” she says, looking down and adjusting her glasses as Spencer shoots you a thankful nod. “Well, um…yes, there is another room a couple of floors up. A king size room…” she trails off, looking slyly up at Spencer.

Seeing Spencer’s face flush, he sets the bags down as he puts both hands on the desk. “Sounds perfect,” he smiles.

“Alright,” she says, typing quickly on the keyboard.

Rolling your eyes, you cast your gaze over to the tables behind the front desk, a lone table in the corner up against a half-curtained window, looking out over the sprawling vineyard.

And that damn tree.

“All set,” she says, her voice light and quiet, “Here is your room key,” she hands to you, the original honeymoon suite. “This room, be warned, is going to have rose petals and a chilled bottle of wine…as well as chocolate-covered cherries.”

“And…what will mine have?” Spencer asks her playfully as she places the key to the room in his hand a little too slowly.

“I…um…,” she drifts her gaze down to his messenger bag, “I see you like books? I could have certain genres sent up to you if you’d like,” she muses, adjusting her glasses.

“Well, here…let me write some down, then,” he says, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

Moving over slowly to the table, you watch her lean in and whisper, “You could add your number…you know, if you’d like.”

She was a shit whisperer.

You turned your attention slowly over to the table, your body guiding you to it as you sat down in the lonely corner, with the lonely window, and the lonely tree…on it’s lonely hill.

“What will it be, ma’am?”

“Huh?” you say, looking up at the gentleman.

You realized that Spencer was gone, and the front desk woman was fingering that piece of paper a little too fondly.

“Would you like anything to eat? Or drink?”

“Do you have alcohol?” you ask, stupidly.

“It’s a vineyard,” the older gentleman smiles at you.

“I mean, other than wine,” you say, turning your gaze back to the view.

“I take it…something strong?” he asks, a little more sympathy in his voice.

“Yes,” you say, “…and keep ‘em comin’.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four drinks and an empty stomach in, you clutch on to your bag as you steady yourself, taking a deep breath as you try to walk up the steps.

“There’s an elevator,” the quiet, flirtatious, stupid front desk woman says, “…over there,” she points with her pen, grinning at you with her stupid glasses and her stupid books and her stupid little nose.

It was a cute nose. But a stupid, cute nose.

Nodding in appreciation, you gingerly walk over, pressing the “up” button as you look down at your room number.

304.

Hearing the elevator ding open, you get in and press the button for the third floor. All you wanted to do was drink and sleep this entire week away. No food, no baths, no problems. Just you…some alcohol…and a big, sprawling bed.

As the elevator doors open, you emerge from the encasing and turn down the hallway, only to see Spencer standing at your door.

Sighing, you slowly stumble up to him, trying your best to act sober as you stick your room key clumsily into the door and rip it up, trying to get the door to open.

“Hey,” he says gingerly.

Ignoring him, you finally get the light to change to green, throwing the door open and tossing your bag into the room.

“Y/F/N?” Spencer says, a little more sheepishly.

“You know,” your words slur together a bit, as you sit down, missing the bed and hitting the floor with a crash.

Spencer rushes over to help you, but you brush his hands away, pulling yourself up and tumbling on to the bed. “You know, if you wanted to get your dick wet with Miss Sexy Pug Nose downstairs, you could have at least waited for the flirting to strike up after your fake wife had left the room.”

As he looks at you with pitiful glances, you lean yourself up, looking him dead in his eyes, “Don’t give me that pitiful stare, Reid,” you spit, venom rising in your throat, “I know you she has the hots for you, it was practically dripping from her petite little mouth,” you hiss, feeling your emotions bubble up again.

Fucking alcohol.

“And here I am, in this disgustingly beautiful place for the second time in my life, and yet again!…the man that I am with decides there is someone here better than me.”

As Spencer furrows his brow, he takes a deep breath, “…a second time?”

“Yep,” you say, popping the “p”. “I was here once, you know…in college…with a wonderful man. Smart, funny, not pushy about sex, wonderful cook…beautiful eyes…”

As you get lost in his memory, Spencer stands there, absolutely stunned.

“And then I realized why a man as beautiful and smart and perfect as him wasn’t pushy about sex,” you rolled yourself over and tried to climb to your feet.

“I got to walk in on him,” you throw your arms in the air as your words continue to slur, “…and some big-boobed, red-lipped, curly-haired bimbo spread eagle in the middle of our king-size bed!”

As Spencer’s mouth hangs open, his eyes widen as he finds his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, reaching his hand out to touch your arm.

“And do you know what!?” you yell, throwing your hands in the air as you see his hand approaching, “That was after he proposed to me!”

Spencer, rooted speechless to the ground, looks upon your fragile state, both in horror and pity. “Yeah! Don’t look so shocked! There was actually someone out there that wanted to marry me. Actually marry me!” you say, taking off your ring and throwing it at him, missing his body as you hear it bang against the door.

“But tough nuts for the virgin,” you mock as you climb into bed, drawing the cool comforter against your skin. “Tough nuts for the ugly duckling…”

And as your mumbling turns to light snoring, Spencer picks up the ring you threw his way and puts it in his pocket, slowly closing the door behind him so as to not wake you up, as one lone tear falls slickly upon his cheek.


	4. Notes

Groaning, you lean yourself up as the morning light filters thru the sheer curtains over the glass double doors. Remembering your encounter with Spencer last night, you sigh as you grab a piece of paper and a pen off of the bedside table, scratching a note onto it.

I’m sorry for yesterday. I had a little too much to drink on an empty stomach. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much. Don’t worry about the venue, it’s beautiful and you will love the grounds. There’s supposed to be a horse-drawn carriage ride for us tonight…why don’t you invite the front-desk lady to take it with you?

Wrapping your robe around you, you fly up the steps two at a time to get to the 5th floor. Opening the door, you shuffle between each room, pushing your ear to the door to see if you could hear him in one of the rooms.

Approaching the very last door, room 506, you hear Beethoven playing faintly in the background. Smiling to yourself, you slip the note underneath his door, hearing the music pause as the paper scrapes the bottom of the door.

You press the elevator button, hearing it ding open as you scurry into it, pressing the 3rd floor button and watching the doors close just as you see the door handle turn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You decided to downstairs, order lunch, and take it to go. You had slept thru breakfast, thankful that Spencer hadn’t bothered to wake you for it. You grabbed the book you were currently reading, the take-out tray with your sandwich and fruit, filled up your drink cup, and started outside. It was a beautiful sunny day, a light breeze spraying your Y/C/H hair back and down your shoulders, your full-length white and purple sun-dress whipping in the breeze as you walk around to the side of the building and start for the pond down the hill.

Approaching the weeping willow trees, you spread your blanket, covering yourself with a smaller one, open your lunch tray, and begin to eat as you prop open your book to the page you last remember reading. It had been quite some time since you took the time to read, and the light sun on your face coupled with the breeze made it the perfect day to read outside. Diving in to your book, you absent-mindlessly finish your food, not looking up until a shiver starts to cascade over your shoulders.

With the sun beginning to set over the vineyard, casting a red hue across the sky, you turn and prop your back against the tree. Feeling your stomach growl, you debate on whether or not to pause and get dinner, but you didn’t have time to make your decision, because, off in the distance, you see the same older gentleman that had served you those drinks the day before, walking up to you with a tray of food in his hands.

“Courtesy of the woman at the front desk,” he says with a weak grin on his face.

Furrowing your brow, you look at the chicken and vegetable kabobs over a beautiful plate of wild rice, and as the steam whips around in the cool nighttime breeze, you look over and see her…

Her and Spencer…

Schlepping off into the sunset in a beautiful horse-drawn carriage.

Smiling lightly, you thank the gentleman and take the plate of food from him, sliding the chicken and vegetables off of the kabobs and into the plate of rice you had propped up on your blanketed legs.

Chuckling weakly and shaking your head, you start to take slow and steady bites, gazing up at the sunset in front of you.

The memories of that drunken night slowly started to flood back. Piece by piece, it was resurfacing in your memory, and you can remember the conversation…or at least part of it…that had taken place as you and Spencer had tried to pick a honeymoon destination.

“Let’s go…here,” you slosh, tipping to the side and giggling.

“But the vineyard would be so beautiful,” Spencer slurs, his fingertips sloppily running up and down your arm.

“But that place sucks,” you spit, making an “ick” face like a 4 year old child not wanting to eat their broccoli.

“I could make it better,” Spencer whispers into your ear, pulling you close and kissing back behind your ear.

“Well, if there was anyone that could do that…” you trail off, pulling back and looking into his drunken, bloodshot eyes.

“Vineyard it is!” you pump your fist into the air, “whooing” like a party girl in the middle of a sweat-raunched club.

“At least I was right about that,” you mumble to yourself, wiping your hands and burping as the rest of the sun sinks below the vineyard lines.

“If Spencer can’t make it beautiful…” you trail off, shaking your head as you push yourself to your feet, gathering your things to head back inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Opening your door, you step on something, crunching it underneath your feet. Tossing everything to the side, you move your foot to see a crumpled piece of paper laying on your floor.

Picking it up slowly, you unfold it to reveal the scribblings of one Spencer Reid.

I blame the carriage ride on you. I can’t believe you stuck me with someone who likes Twilight.

Throwing your head back and laughing, you feel slightly vindicated. Going over to your notepad, you scribble another note down:

That’s what you get for dating on our honeymoon.

Folding the piece of paper up, you grab your door key and head for the stairs, trying with all your might to stop laughing at the note.

If it hadn’t been for you, he would have never even known what Twilight was. You had never read the books, but you most certainly knew the plot, what for the chittering teenagers in the coffee shop that you frequented in the mornings. And then he had to go and read it…all of it…in one evening, and had called you to personally spit in your ear about how stupid the series was, spouting the numerous fallacies within the book and how it wouldn’t even be possible for any of this to occur in real life, so there was absolutely no point in reading it.

It was one of your fondest memories of him.

“Some people read things that are fiction, Reid,” you had said to him, you recall as the elevator doors ding, letting you off on the 5th floor.

“And so do I! I’ve read War and Peace!” he had exclaimed over the phone as you had howled into the receiver.

“This isn’t funny,” he had pouted…and you remembered envisioning him with his bottom lip sticking out, pouting like a kid who was being refused candy.

Stifling your laughing, you slip the note under his door and scurry for the stairs, hearing the door hastily open as you fling yourself around the ballast, running to get out of view before he could fling his head out the door and catch a peek of you dashing down the hallway in your nightgown.


	5. Vulnerable

You wake up with a start to someone banging down your door. Flustered, and still half asleep, you throw yourself out of bed and stumble to the door, fumbling with the chain and lock as you throw it open.

Shoving a cup of coffee into your hand, Spencer invites himself into your room.

“You’ve got 10 minutes,” he says, flopping down on your bed, his playful grin growing across his cheeks.

Furrowing your brow as you stare blankly at the cup of coffee, you tilt your gaze up towards him and cock your head.

“What?” you croak.

Looking at his watch, he says, “Now, you have 9 minutes and 16 seconds.”

Sighing, you take a huge gulp of coffee and make your way into the bathroom. Turning on the sink, you splash water in your face, wiping it off and slowly take stock of yourself in the mirror.

The last time you had really looked into a mirror was before Spencer had picked you up that evening to go get some food and drinks. You fingered the bags under your eyes, sighing as you feel around for your cosmetics bag. You knew you had something for them, and as you unscrew the cap of the little bottle in your hands, you realize that Spencer is standing at the bathroom entrance, staring at you.

“What?” you breathe, turning towards him with some cream on the tip of your finger.

“I never have understood why women wear this stuff,” he says, gesturing to your make-up bag.

“We do it to look pretty for all the men in the world, Reid,” you say, shaking your head as you lean towards the mirror, rubbing as much concealer under your eyes as you can stand.

“I’m sure, being one, you can appreciate it.”

“You know, in most animal cultures,” he starts, “…it’s the male that is brightly colored to attract the female, not the other way around.”

“Well,” you say throwing your concealer back into your bag and pulling out your foundation, “then go put on your clown costume and meet me in 7 minutes,” you look at him and smirk. “I’ll be the one in the holey shirt and the dingy jeans, leaning back and scratching at my crotch.”

As Spencer chuckles, he looks down at his watch, he says, “Actually, it’s 6 minutes and 32 seconds.”

Glaring at him, cocking an eyebrows as you realize he’s serious, you sigh and slam your make-up down, pushing the bag away.

“Fine, have it your way,” you huff, waltzing out of the room and over to your bag.

Ripping your nightgown over your head, you hear Spencer gasp and quickly turn on his heels. Snapping your bra on and pulling on a matching pair of underwear, you pull a decadent sundress over your shoulders, letting it tumble to the floor, while you search for the matching blue sandals you knew you had packed.

After all, this was your favorite outfit.

Smoothing out your dress and turning around, you are met with Spencer’s stare, his gaze locked on your body.

“You look-” he stops, catching himself. “That dress is very pretty,” he says, his face flushing lightly.

“Thanks,” you say, glancing down and smoothing it out, “I can throw on some make-up now, how much time do I have left?”

As Spencer glances down at his watch, he realizes you still have 3 minutes and 42 seconds.

“You just ran out of time,” he says, looking up at you as you sigh heavily. “But don’t worry,” he says, taking a step towards you, “You look great, and there won’t be any alcohol involved today.”

“But alcohol makes everything so much fuuuuun,” you playfully whine, slumping your shoulders as Spencer’s grin turns into a giggle.

“Alcohol is what got us married,” Spencer says, his eyes joyful as his grin turns into a full-blown smile.

“That’s not was Freud would say, and you know it,” you say, walking past him and booping his nose on the way out the door.

“I know,” he whispers under his breath, catching the door in his hand as he shuts it behind him, following you as he walks your path to the elevator.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I don’t know why Hotch thinks that we don’t get along,” you muse as you and Spencer walk along the rows of grapes. “I mean, yeah we bump heads and buck up to each other in the office, but just because we don’t fraternize outside of work doesn’t mean we don’t like each other,” you finish, popping a grape off of the vine and tossing it into your mouth.

“I think it’s more of the fact that when we do go out as a group, we are always arguing about something,” Spencer answers.

“But, I mean, we aren’t arguing about…you know…the decorative towels in the guest bathroom. We’re arguing about theorems and discoveries and interpretations of books we’ve read.”

“Yeah, well…” Spencer trails off, “Sometimes that kind of constant tension gets to the others in the group.”

Furrowing your brow, you realize that you had never thought of that notion. It had never occurred to you that the arguing, which you had always considered as “playful bantering,” might actually be weighing the team down on the bit of time that they do have off to spend with each other.

“It’s alright,” Spencer says, bumping your shoulder and trying to cheer you up, “We can practice now. After all, we’ve got 4 more nights here.”

“Alright, Spencer Reid,” you respond, “Let’s start. What do you think of the vineyard so far?”

“It’s beautiful,” he says, looking around him. “I would love to come back here sometime.”

Nodding, you feel your body starting to walk up an incline. “I understand the feeling,” you respond.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to-” Spencer whips around to apologize for bringing up bad memories, but you hold your hand up to stop him. “It’s alright, Reid. That episode was a drunken rant by an overly emotional woman who never lets her emotions bubble to the surface. Outbursts like that are bound to happen when you keep them wound so tightly around your spindle.”

As Spencer stops, you turn to look at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Why do you keep them so close?” he asks, his gaze piercing.

“Just…always been that way,” you lie.

“You’re lying to me, Y/N.”

You were a bit taken aback. It’s the first time that Spencer had ever used your first name in a serious conversation, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Taking a deep breath, you start in on your story.

“My family has always been big in to those ‘family meetings.’ You know, the ones where you sit down in a living room or a kitchen and flesh out all of your emotions and talk about how your week has been or hash out your angers at any one particular family member…”

As Spencer starts walking again, his hands clasped behind his back, he furrows his brow lightly as he continues to listen. “Well, even if you aren’t familiar with then, my family did those. Every week. Sometimes twice a week. And every time I had an issue with someone, I would hash it out, just as asked. I would cry, yell, rant…you know, the works when it comes to a teenage girl…and then what would happen is instead of being allowed to traipse off to my room and let my anger calm down, I was made to sit there staring at the person I was angry at, not permitted to leave the room, or table, or wherever I was until I hugged the person I was having the issues with and accepted their apology.”

As Spencer continues to listen, you continue to ramble.

“It was like being angry or upset with someone in my family wasn’t acceptable. We went to church every Sunday, and we had to act like the perfect family: my father, the professor; my mother, the active member of the church; and me and my brother, the perfect and loving siblings who got along all the time. It was exhausting, and irritating…”

“…and fake,” Spencer finished.

Sighing, you look to the top of the hill, thankful to be able to take a rest. “Exactly. I felt like I wasn’t entitled to my own feelings…that I just had to go along with everyone’s else opinion of how I needed to deal with my feelings, if that makes sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Y/N,” he says, using your first name again.

Chuckling at the use of it again, you are surprised that you keep rambling on to him.

“And it wasn’t just emotions. It was the constant questioning of decisions. If you wanted to do something simple, like going to see a movie, you not only had to give them a reason as to why you wanted to go see said movie, you had to justify who you were going with, and why you didn’t pick any of the other movies to go see.”

As he turns his gaze towards you, you finally see the first signs of him being perplexed.

“I had to defend and justify every decision, every move, and every choice I made. And it was exhausting. It was overwhelming, and tiresome, and I finally got to a point where I just…you know…bowed my head and went along with it. I stopped hanging out with my friends because the process to get to them was no longer worth it. I stopped social activities, like sports, after school, because the 15 minute conversation that ensued prior to me being able to leave for it not only left me feeling drained, but also made me late.”

“And now, you feel that if someone has a different opinion from you, that they are somehow attacking you?” he asks, searching your face as he tries to figure you out.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging, feeling defeated. “I suppose arguing is the only way I know how to communicate, because it was the basic way I communicate with my entire family.”

As you kick the ground at your feet, Spencer reaches for your shoulders, causing you to life your gaze to him.

“It isn’t always like that, Y/N,” he says. “Just because someone’s opinion differs from yours doesn’t mean you have to argue about your differences, or that they think you’re incompetant. Sometimes it just means that someone truly wants your opinion…to listen to you talk about it from your point-of-view. To get to know you better. I, personally, enjoy conversation with you. It’s why I always rebuttal your arguments, despite the looks from the team.”

Raising your eyebrows at him, you blush amd look down, clearing your throat. “Alright, Spencer,” you emphasize, your gaze becoming playful while his remains stern.

“You keep using my first name, Reid,” you say, your playful resolve slowly fading at the realization of how personal the conversation had become.

“I know,” he says, taking your hand as you trip trying to turn yourself back around. “Am I not allowed to do that?”

“It’s just…” you pause, trying to find the right words. “You’ve never done that before, and it’s…”

As Spencer stares at you, waiting for you to finish, your breath hitches as you turn to survey the scene from the hill, “the tree” teasing you off in the distance.

“See that tree?” you say, diverting the conversation.

Catching Spencer’s shoulder’s slump a bit, he takes a deep breath and says, “I do.”

Wincing lightly at the words, your eyes glisten over with tears as a battle between unraveling and staying strong rages within your body. “That’s where he…um…”

“Proposed?” Spencer attempted to finish.

Nodding your head, you lower your hand to your side, your gaze drifting off into the distance as memories start to flood back into your forefront of your mind.

Memories of his smile and his arms. His warmth and his kiss.

His lips on the side of your neck…

Feeling the hairs stand up on your arms, you feel a coat being whipped around your body, slowly settling itself onto your shoulders. Closing it in front of your body, a chill starts to permeate, despite the sun baring down on you both.

“It’s a bit chilly, don’t you think?” you say, clearing your throat as you turn and start back down the hill.

“Yes,” Spencer mutters, following you back down, “I suppose so.”


	6. Surprise

Laying in bed, you thought back to your stroll with Spencer today. It had been so out of character for how this entire thing started, and you found that you had enjoyed it.

Sure, you were emotionally guarded, especially in this place and being surrounded by all its memories. And sure, you knew that you were dodging the emotionally hard questions, causing Spencer to puzzle at your reactions.

But you weren’t actually married.

You mean, you are, you’re just not…

Interrupted by a knock at the door, you sling your glasses on and grab your robe, smiling as you open the door.

“Hey, Spenc-!”

Looking up, it was…once again…the older gentleman.

Don’t they have any other employees?

Furrowing your brow, you cock your hip out. “Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me,” you say, a smirk playing across your lips.

Hearing him chuckle, you reach out for the tray in his hand.

“Compliments of a Mr…” he looks down at his paper pad and furrows his brow, “Tolstoy.”

Shaking your head lightly and laughing, you take the tray from him, winking at him playfully before tipping him for the personal delivery.

Hearing the door shut behind you, you pick up the tray covering to reveal a note on top of a copy of War And Peace:

Twilight still sucks, but today didn’t. Breakfast in the morning?

Smiling, you sit down on the edge of the bed, running your hand across the hardback cover of the book. Your cheeks burning from all of the smiling, you take a breath as you flip the hard front cover of the book over, following it with your eyes as red scribble on the back of the page catches your eye.

Truth, like gold, is not to be obtained by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not gold.  
-Leo Tolstoy

Running your fingers over the quote he so delicately steadied his hand to write, you flip until you come to the first page of the book, picking your wine glass up to your lips as your eyes get lost in the beauty of the text.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stretching your arms, you hear something hit the floor with a smash.

Lobbing your head over to look at the clock, you see that it’s almost 9 am.

As your eyes widen, you fling your feet over the side of the bed, you foot landing on the back cover of the book you were reading last night.

“Shit.”

Picking it up and finding your place, you use your glasses to hold your place as a bookmark, running to the bathroom to slam your contacts into your eyes.

Hissing from the burning sensation, you rip them out and rub your eyes, rushing to replace your glasses with a bunny-ear corner fold to ear-mark your place…making you cringe a bit inside…as you throw your glasses on.

Throwing on the first outfit you grab, you slip into your slippers and rush downstairs, finding Spencer sipping on orange juice over in the corner.

“Spencer!” you yell, waving your hand at him as you come running.

As he looks up at you, his startled expression gives way to laughter.

After all, your cherry-patterned pajama bottoms and your Beatles t-shirt look very contrasting against your wildly knotted hair piled high atop your head as your glasses sit crookedly on your nose.

“I am so sorry,” you emphasize as you sit down, a waiter placing coffee in front of you. “I was reading last night and I fell asleep late and I overslept and then-”

Spencer reaches out and puts his hand over yours, calming your nerves. “Good morning, Y/N. I see you got my present last night,” he soothes, smiling at you as you look from your coffee to his eyes.

“Yes, I did,” you soften your voice, feeling your face heat up a degree.

As the waiter brings both of your plates of food, you furrow your brow as you look from your plate back to him.

“How did you know?” you ask, flabbergasted.

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” he says, picking up his fork and stabbing his eggs, “you’re not as unpredictable as you might think.”

Raising your eyebrows slightly, your breath hitches as the sound of your name falls from his lips. He was never this confident at work, and you found that it was quite alluring.

“Why are you never this way at work?” you ask pointedly, furrowing your brow. “This…this confident?”

Smirking, he swallows his bite as his gaze comes up to meet yours, “I don’t know. I suppose that job is for Morgan and Hotch. Takes less energy for me to do my job that way.”

“Less energy!?” you exclaim as Spencer chuckles. “If anything, listening to you do your job makes me expend energy!”

In a full blown laugh, Spencer leans his head back as you take your first bite of your food, ignoring the questioning desire of what his neck would feel like between your teeth.

As his laugh dies down, the two of you eat in relative silence, and as the waiter comes and takes your empty plates, you look at Spencer and ask, “So…what are your plans for today?”

“Well…I believe, on the honeymoon docket, at 1 there is a couples massage.”

Raising your eyebrows fully, you had almost forgotten how you two ended up here in the first place.

Nodding your head slowly…and whipping yourself back into reality…you feel Spencer’s hand squeeze yours.

“We dusted a layer off,” he lowers his voice, “don’t sift it back on just because circumstances aren’t ideal.”

Meeting his gaze, your eyes begging for a different reality…a less emotional reality…he gives your hand one more light squeeze.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispers.

Feeling your lip begin to quiver, Spencer gets up from the table, leaving you to your thoughts.

“I’ll see you at 1,” he says, turning his back to walk off.

Gazing back out towards the window to that sprawling, beckoning tree, you hear Spencer call after you.

“Oh, Y/N?”

Whipping your head around, you meet his gaze.

“I enjoy it when you call me Spencer.”

Furrowing your brow, thinking back to when you first approached him, you realized that by addressing him by his first name, you had given him a little more entrance into your world than anyone else on the team has had thus far.

And he knew it.

But the surprising thing of it all?

You weren’t as scared as you thought you would be.


	7. Ring

Putting your book down, you hear a knock at the door.

“Y/N?”

Smiling at his voice, you come in from the balcony and shut the door.

“Just a minute, Spencer.”

Hearing him chuckle lowly to himself, your skin starts to prickle on your arms. Looking down at them, you furrow your brow and scold them, running your hands up and down your arms quickly, urging them to go away.

“Stop that!” you whisper harshly to your arms.

“I-is everything alright?” you hear the change of tone in his voice, concern starting to creep in.

“Just fine,” you sing-song, opening the door and greeting him with a smile. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” he smiles, sticking his hands in his pockets as you shut your door behind you.

“So. Where does this magical fake marriage couples massage take place?” you say, playfully raising your eyebrows as you shoot him a side glance.

“Apparently, in the same area where we will get our facial, pedicure, and couples soak in the nude hot tub.”

“Wait…what!?” you exclaim, stopping in your tracks and turning towards him, the elevator doors closing you both in.

As Spencer’s laugh grows, you slug him in his arm, causing him to clutch it and groan as he continues laughing. “I was just kidding!”

“Not funny,” you say, trying to hide your smile. “I don’t even own a bathing suit, much less consider myself a sight to behold naked.”

Spencer stops laughing and turns towards you, furrowing his brow as the the elevator doors open.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?” he inquires, true shock registering in his eyes, much to your surprise.

Shaking your head as you get off the elevator, you retort, “Spencer, I don’t even think I’m tolerable.”

Walking towards the back exit of the building, you take a right into the spa, realizing that Spencer isn’t behind you.

Turning your body in his direction, your brow crinkles up as you ask, “Hey. Hubby. You coming?”

Why in the world does he have that dumb look on his face?

“Y-yeah, sorry. Coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, I’m going to leave, and you two can get undressed and covered up with these sheets here,” the woman sets a sheet on each massage bed, “And my partner and I will be back in 10 minutes.”

As the both of you nod, she exits, and Spencer starts to get undressed.

“Whoa!” you say, spinning around on your heels.

“What? Where did you think we were gonna undress?” he says as you hear his buckle clatter to the floor.

Honestly? You hadn’t thought about that.

As you hear him climb on to his massage bed, he says, “All clear. Your turn.”

Turning around, his bare back is to you as you begin to undress.

His strong, toned, smooth back.

Clearing your throat, you shake your head lightly as you pull your shirt over your head. Tossing it to the side, you slide your skirt down, kicking it off along with your shoes.

“Should I take off my bra?” you ask hesitantly.

“The straps will probably get in the way, so yeah,” Spencer responds.

Your eyes widening, you weren’t aware that you had said that out loud.

And, even more so, you were shocked at Spencer’s cool reaction to your inquiry.

Unhooking your bra, you climb on to the massage table, laying yourself down face first and covering your entire body with the sheet.

“Okay, I’m good.”

As Spencer wheels around to lay down himself, the two ladies come in from the main room.

“Alright. Go ahead and get comfortable.”

Hearing Spencer shift, you place your face in the padded hole of the massage bed, fully aware that Spencer could reach out and rub your bare back at any moment.

And that thought alone sent shivers down your spine.

“You ok, honey?” your massage woman asks. “You cold?”

“N-no, ma’am,” you say, stuttering a bit.

“Now,” the other lady says, “What’s your favorite scent?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After groaning and moaning the entire way thru your hour and a half massage, you were sad when it was over. As the ladies left the room, you and Spencer put your clothes back on and shuffled out of the room.

“Should we…tip…or something?” you ask, looking around at the counter.

“Already handled,” Spencer says, coming up behind you and placing his hand on the midsection of your back.

Feeling his hand put pressure on you, he leads you out of the spa and out thru the back door, his arm slowly slipping around your waist as the two of you walk down to the weeping willows.

“You know,” you say, breaking the silence, “this is where I saw Team Robert take you on a carriage ride.”

Chuckling as you hear him groan, the two of you sit on a bench underneath a sprawling tree, the swans gliding their way along the pond.

“It’s alright. I’m enjoying getting to know you better anyway.”

Smiling shyly, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you sarcastically retort, “Even though you’re not getting laid?”

“Especially because I’m not getting laid,” he responds.

After a bit of silence, you try to resuscitate some conversation.

“It has been a roller-coaster rise these past few days,” you say, your hands trembling with nerves.

If Spencer saw it, he didn’t indicate that he did.

“I think we both needed the vacation from work anyway,” he muses.

“I came with you to meet your mom and we ended up married,” you say, a giggle rising from your throat.

“At least we got something in the right order,” he responds, his chuckle growing to match yours.

“In most cultures,” you say, putting your hand on his knee as your laughing grows, “we wouldn’t even be considered married until we consummated the marriage!”

Hearing Spencer trying to catch his breath, he says, “And, in some cultures, I wouldn’t even be able to sleep with you until my father did!”

As the two of you continue laughing, tears springing to your eyes, you choke out, “Oh god! I’d rather it be you! I’d rather it be you!”

Hearing Spencer’s laugh come to a halt, you wipe the tears of hilarity off of your face as you turn to look at him.

“What?” you ask.

“Y-you…you wanna…consummate our fake marriage?”

“I mean, in a hypothetical world, if the choice was you or your father, I’d prefer you,” you state matter of factly.

It makes sense. You haven’t ever met his father. And? That’s just weird.

“Well, what about Morgan?”

“What about him?” you ask, your eyebrow cocking in the air.

“If it was me or Morgan, who would you rather sleep with?” Spencer asks.

“Uh…what?” you say, furrowing your brow and reeling back from shock.

“I mean, Morgan is the stereotypical man that every woman goes for…”

“And that means my loins must burn for him?” you say, growing agitated.

“Yes. I mean, no…I just-”

“What is this about, anyway?” you ask, your tone defensive. “We are on a fake honeymoon, waiting for a fake marriage to be absolved, and now you want to discuss our nonexistent sex life and who I would rather sleep with besides my fake husband!?”

Jumping up from the bench, you feel a tugging at your wrist. “Please, Y/N,” Spencer begs, “don’t bury yourself under all of these layers again. It was just a playful conversation…it didn’t mean anything,” he pleads.

“Oh, so in reality, you nor your father would want to sleep with me!” your voice growing in volume.

As Spencer’s eyes widen, his jaw going slack, his eyes beg with you to sit back down.

“And screw your layers!” you yell at him, balling your fists up as your knuckles turn white, yanking your arm from his grip. “I don’t need to be brushed off and fixed, Spencer,” you say, turning your back to storm up the hill.

“I can’t believe you don’t think you’re beautiful!” he yells after you, stopping you in your tracks as he gets up from the bench.

Slowly turning on your heels, your face contorts with astonishment. “Is that what this is about? How I perceive my beauty and self-worth?”

As Spencer approaches you, he reaches out to take your hands within his, but stops short, letting them flop to his sides.

“I can’t believe you actually think you aren’t beautiful,” he whispers to you, stepping closer as he looks down upon you in to your sparkling Y/C/E eyes.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” you whisper back to him, furrowing your forehead with confusion as tears spring to your eyes…and as he cups your face in his hand, his gaze focused and intent, he lowers his voice to a staggeringly soothing octave.

“I think you’re breath-taking.”

As your jaw unhinges to the ground, Spencer slowly walks past you and starts up the hill towards the BnB. Turning back to look at you, he asks, “Are you coming? It’s almost dinner time.”

And as you shake your head slightly and start up the hill after him, you couldn’t help but stare at his left hand as the setting sun flicked a split-second glare off of his finger…

…and that’s when you realized he was still wearing his wedding ring.


	8. Nightmare

He’s still wearing his ring.

But, why? Why would he still wear it?

Laying in bed, you hear a light crumbling at the door just before the shuffling of feet.

Getting up, you walk to the entrance, a piece of paper laying on the floor in front of your door.

You missed your favorite part of dinner. Enjoy.

Opening your door, you see a silver tray with a top sitting lonely in the hallway. Picking it up and looking both ways down the hall, you sigh and shut the door.

Taking the tray to your bed, you pick up the top and place it to the aside, your eyes brimming with tears at the sight of the lemon creme brulee sitting before you.

Leaning your head back, stifling your tears once again, you think back to earlier in the evening:

Sitting down to dinner, your gaze wanders back to his ring. You couldn’t stop staring at it…the question of his adornment turning over in your head.

“Can I get you two something to drink?”

Looking up at the waiter, you recognize him from your other encounters.

“Do they not have any more waiters?” you ask nervously, trying to cut the tension on your end down a bit.

As the elderly man gives you a nonchalant smile, you catch Spencer raising his eyebrow as he orders a soda, you sticking with your usual glass of wine.

“So…” Spencer says, setting down the menu, “What are you thinking of having?”

Gripping the menu with great fortitude, you catch yourself trying to steady the shaking in your hands.

“The chicken is always a nice default,” you say, your eyes never leaving the menu.

You could feel his gaze burrowing a hole into the bridge of your nose.

You curse silently to yourself when the all-too-familiar waiter takes your menus from you after ordering, wishing you still had a barrier between you and that piercing gaze of his.

“Talk to me,” he says, his voice low as he reaches for your hand.

Peeling your hand back and putting it in your lap, you take a nervous sip of your glass of wine, spilling a little off the side and on to yourself.

“Oh, clumsy me,” you chuckle nervously, dapping your cloth napkin at the stain in your lap.

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his voice more stern.

“What?” you say, fluttering your voice as if nothing is wrong.

“What is going on?” he asks. “Is it still about the talk by the pond?”

“No! Not at all!” you say, your voice a little too high. “It’s nothing…” you trail off, clearing your throat.

As the food gets set in front of you, you fiddle with your fork, slowly picking it up and making holes in your mashed potatoes.

Sighing, Spencer sets his fork down.

“This is nuts,” he proclaims. “What is going on?”

“Why are you still wearing the ring?” you blurt out, jumping at how loud the question rang out. Looking around you, strangers eyes dart back down to their food, knowing good and well their ears are still at attention.

“I…uh…” Spencer stammers, leaning back into his chair, “don’t know…”

“I mean…don’t you just think it’s odd…?” you question, finally raising your gaze to his, searching for his reaction.

“It just…erm…”

Furrowing your brow, you start to grow irritated.

“You mean you want me to undress my layers, but you can’t even offer up a simple answer as to why you’re still wearing a ring from a fake wedding?”

As Spencer shoots his gaze back up at you, you raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms as your body language demands an answer.

“I don’t want to tell you, because if I do you’re going to run,” he states.

“Try me.”

Taking a deep breath, he sighs. “I’m still wearing it because it…it feels right.”

Blinking at him, your face pales.

Yep. He is right.

Fidgeting in your seat, Spencer starts to recognize your signs.

“Y/N, please…just stay,” he says, reaching out for your hand.

Shaking your head, you push yourself away from the table, your dinner not being touched.

“No,” you say.

“Y/N, please…let’s just talk…I didn’t-”

“No. This is not how this process works,” you say, your eyes filling with tears as you hold your hands up in surrender.

“Y/N…” Spencer says tentatively, pushing his chair back from the table and halfway standing, bracing himself to rush in front of you should you dart off towards the stairs.

As your breathing starts to pick up, your gaze travels back to his left hand, and your spirit breaks.

“No!” you yell, stopping him in his tracks.

“No…” you whisper, tears streaming down your face as his brow furrows in worry, your head shaking vigorously.

“Thi-this…this is…no…thi-no…”

Your mind was whirling and your heart was pounding in your ears, and you could feel your panic attack rising in your throat.

“Y/N.”

Spencer reaches out for you, grabbing your wrist as you try to get away from the table. Stumbling backwards, you wrench your arm from his hand, spinning around and glaring at him.

“This is not how this works!” you yell, the restaurant staring at you.

“Then tell me how it’s supposed to work,” Spencer’s voice grows, “because all I know is that I woke up married to a beautiful woman a few days ago, and the more I get to know her, the more I realize how incredible she is and how smart she is…how funny she is. And I can’t help but feel that…maybe…this is how things turn out for people like us.”

As your eyes widen in terror, you make a breathless chuckle before shaking your head and exclaiming, “What!?”

When silence permeates the restaurant floor, you turn your body flush to him and retort, “In no universe, under any circumstance, does anyone wake up from a drunken stupor, realizing they have gotten married, and stay married!! It…it’s idiotic! It’s…it’s…NOT HOW IT WORKS!”

Watching Spencer cock his head at you, his mind surely ticking away at ways to calm you down, you lose all sense of time and space.

“Spencer, you were disgusted at the idea of us even having sex!!” you roar.

“Well-” Spencer pauses, taking a resounding breath…"Well, you thought my morning wood was gross…and you were the one that suggested the annulment paperwork in the first place!” he retorts.

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t want to annul this!?” you point vigorously between the two of you, “This mess from the beginning!?”

As your voice begins to rise, cracking with it’s height, the waiter finally makes his way over to the two of you in the middle of the dining room floor.

“I don’t know!” Spencer roars, his eyes flaring with anger as he throws his hands over his head, “but I sure as hell would’ve liked a voice in the decision-making process!”

“Spencer! Listen to yourself!! You flirt, you flounder, you date for at least a year. Then, you meet each other’s family, he asks my father to marry me, then he proposes in a butterfly garden with tons of flowers around just as the sun is setting over the hills, and I am supposed to squeal and cry as I say yes, and then…THEN, you plan a wedding. A real, true, RIGHT wedding!”

Panting, you take a deep breath, your body trembling and your vision blurring as the waiter dips down into your ear, asking that you take your debacle elsewhere to sort out because you were disturbing the other guests.

…and that’s all you remember. You somehow ended up safely in your room. And now? You are sobbing over the lemon creme brulee that Spencer brought you, knowing that dessert is always your favorite course.

All the two of you did was work together and bicker over books, and he somehow new that your favorite part of dinner wasn’t actually dinner…but dessert.

Yep. You sure did know how to ruin a nice evening.

Finishing your creme brulee, crying until your eyes ran dry, you lean back into your bed, rolling over and stuffing your hand under your pillow.

Jumping at the sharp pain that shot thru your arm, you rip your hand out and toss your pillow aside, gazing down at the hardback cover of War and Peace.

And as you slide the book off to the side and place your pillow back under your head, you soak it with the fresh tears of your repressed emotion as you curl up into a ball, ready for this nightmare…this wonderful, incredible, beautiful nightmare…to be over.


	9. Left Behind

Curling up in bed, your stomach whirling from hunger, you slip in and out of sleep. Tossing and turning, contorting every which way, your body finally gives in to the idea that no more sleep is needed.

And it’s still dark outside.

Huffing, you lob yourself out of bed, reaching for the remote to the television as you switch it on, the glare from the screen causing you to wince.

Mindlessly flipping thru the channels, you fall on to the TV guide that is endlessly scrolling the listings of shows currently in session. Staring at the screen, your sight blurry and your chest heavy, you catch the date and time out of the corner of your eye.

What?

Lunging out of bed, you pick up your phone, pleading to yourself that your eyes are deceiving you.

I slept thru Friday!?

Realizing that it’s 4 am Saturday morning, you throw your robe around you, grab the apology note you penned for Spencer, and dash for your door. Stepping on something, you come crashing to the floor, moaning as you hold your butt bone as you curse thru your gritted teeth.

Wincing, you roll over and pull the culprit out from underneath you, unfolding the scarred up piece of paper to reveal a note from Spencer.

Y/N,

I figured you would want some time to yourself. When you never came to the door today, I figured you just didn’t want to see me, and that’s understandable. I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation.

Spencer

“No,” you declare, picking yourself up and floundering for the note you wrote him.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

Rushing out the door, your hair wild and your robe haphazardly thrown on, you bound up the stairs, two by two, busting thru the door onto Spencer’s floor. Chasing down his door, you bang on it, hoping to god that he opens up.

Pressing your ear to the door, you continue to bang, finally hearing a rustling, followed shortly by footsteps.

Your heart swelling as the doorknob begins to turn, the door is thrown open to reveal a very disheveled black man with his…something…grumbling in the background and inquiring as to who is “knocking the damn door down.”

“What?” the man huffs.

“I-um…I am so sorry. I thought, uh…”

Trying to find your words, the man shakes his head and shuts the door in your face. Slowly turning on your heels, you meander your way back to the stairs, disbelief mixing with a familiar urge to vomit as your mind tries to wrap itself around your current reality.

He’s gone.

Somehow appearing at the door to your suite, you look down at your trembling hand, the note hanging only by your thumb and pointer finger. Watching it slip to the floor, you search for your hotel key, your body starting to shake with emotion as you realize you had forgotten it in your room in your haste to get up to Spencer’s.

And as you press your back to the cold door, sliding down until your butt hits the floor, you move your head from side to side as heaping sobs pour over your body, your shaking hands coming up to cover your face as you lay down, curled up in a ball, in front of your vineyard suite hotel door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropping his bags by his door entrance, Spencer slowly traipses into his room, flopping down face first onto his bed, moaning as his body slowly sinks into his mattress.

I blew it.

Sighing, he turns over, staring at his bedroom ceiling as he thinks back on the events that lead him to his current predicament.

It was no secret that you challenged him intellectually, and he was more than happy to put up with the tone in which you argued if it meant getting your perspective on things. He enjoyed his conversations with you, even if it meant that the team wasn’t always thrilled to have the two of you in the same room together after hours.

And then he woke up married to you.

Yes, he was shocked. Of course, he was scared. And sure, he was even worried.

But he wasn’t opposed.

And that was the difference.

You were completely opposed to the idea of being married to anyone, much less him.

But, the more time he spent with you, the more he found himself content with the situation. Content, and even excited, at the mystery surrounding the idea of being married to you.

The more he thought, the more he had convinced himself it was the way it was supposed to work. The two of you had a great deal in common: you knew multiple languages, you loved old films, you had a massive addiction to coffee, you had a passion for traveling…

But he realized that the more you had thought about the situation, the more you retracted from him, despite his attempts to get you to dust off your layers.

And he wanted so desperately to help you dust them off.

There was nothing wrong with you, you were just so closed off. In his eyes, you were perfect, attitude and all. But he knew you weren’t happy with yourself.

And he knew how that felt.

And he wanted you to know that you weren’t alone…

But as much as you pushed him away, he started to think that maybe you did need to be alone, if only for a little bit. Just to get your emotions out, in check, and your mind wrapped around things.

So, he had decided to give you what he thought was what you were pining for…

Space.

No matter how much it hurt, and no matter how much it ached, and no mater how lonely he felt, he would give you the space you needed…if only as a last ditch effort to finally win you over.

Though he highly doubted it would do nothing more than the widen the gap between the two of you

And as he turned over and shifted underneath his covers, he shut his eyes and pulled the covers over his face, his eyes welling with tears just as his cell phone lit up on the bedside table, your name sprawled across the opening screen.


	10. Future Rush

Sunday morning had finally arrived, and after a day of mourning and constant thinking, you pack the last of your bags and head down the stairs, heading towards the front desk to turn your key in early.

And, much to your disdain, at the front of the office is none other than Miss Bella Swan herself.

“Did you enjoy your stay?” she asked bubbly, her eyes steadily searching around you.

Looking for Spencer, no doubt.

Smiling lightly to yourself, you take a deep breath.

“He’s not here,” you say flatly, her eyes finally coming back to meet yours, “And yes, I believe I did.”

Slowly lowering your key card to the desk, you pick up your bags and walk towards the door, turning on your heels just before walking out into the morning light.

“A bit of advice? If you want to attract men such as Dr. Reid,” you spout, “Try reading something other than Twilight.”

And with a twist in your step and saunter in your hips, you pick up your bag and open the door towards the morning light, leaving a gaping-mouthed front desk attendant in the wake of your allure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking in to the office, coffee in hand, Spencer was sure he had some paperwork that had started to build up. Standing in the elevator, he catches sight of his wedding ring, hurrying to slip it off as he places it in his pocket as the elevator doors open.

Sulking into the main room, he shuffles on over to his desk, sitting down in his seat and sighing at the stack of papers sitting on top of his computer keyboard.

“Reid?” he hears a voice come from overhead.

“Hey, Hotch,” he says, giving a weary smile as he looks up at his boss.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice softening.

“Work,” Spencer rebuttals, furrowing his brow as he dips his head, reaching to pull the first folder off of the stack of files.

“You’re still technically on vacation,” Hotch states, coming down the stairs.

“Got back in early, figured I would come on in and get a jump-start,” Reid responds, trying to keep his tone of voice even, despite the emotion welling in his chest.

“How was it?”

“How was what?” Spencer asks.

“Your vacation, Spencer. I know you went to see your mother…” his boss trails off.

At the sound of his boss using his first name, he lifts his head, a slight twinge of hurt in his eyes as Hotch runs his eyes over Spencer, studying his body language, as his eyes finally fall to the ever so slight light ring of skin around his finger.

“It was fine,” he tenses, his lips mushed into a thin line.

“How was the outing with Y/N?” Hotch inquires.

Wincing lightly, Spencer sighs, “I-I-It was about what you can expect.”

Because the exhausting truth of the entire debacle was, given the situation, and given the circumstances, you had reacted as everyone would have thought you would.

And that truth ached deep down in his bones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropping your stuff off outside, you tell the driver that you want to make a stop off before you head on to the airport. Pointing in the direction you wanted to go, the driver starts the car and backs out, slowly driving around and barreling up the all-to-familiar hillside.

Closing your eyes as you feel the sway of the car, you think back on your vacation with Spencer. The feeling of smiling alongside someone, the feeling of getting to know him outside of anything having to do with work. The idea of childishly passing notes at night, making each other warm inside. You thought back to the couple’s massage, and how your skin crept with the idea of his bare hand reaching out for contact. You reminisced on how vindicated you had felt when he had revealed to you the nature of the carriage ride, how powerless you felt when he stepped up to his commanding, alpha-male personality.

The feeling of waking up next to someone that first morning in Vegas…

Your skin crawling again, you hug yourself and rub your arms, giving a great big sigh before opening your eyes.

Feeling the car come to a halt, the driver lets you know that you have arrived at your off-route destination.

Taking a deep breath, you get out of the car, reminiscing as the smell of the tree wafts over your face, the air rustling the familiar sound of the leaves as the emotion starts to churn within your stomach.

And for the first time in your entire existence, you allow the emotion to rack your body.

As tears flood your collarbone, pooling into your cleavage as they spill over your face, you lowly walk over and put your hand on it’s prominent trunk, feeling around as you open your eyes, your hand running over the initials that you and your ex-fiance had carved into the side of that tree so very long ago.

“Y/F/I Y/L/I + SR 4ever”

Of course, Scott Rilesway was the man who had accompanied you for that particular trip…but something in the back of your mind kept chanting his name.

Spen-cer Reid. Spen-cer Reid. Spen-cer Reid.

You fondled your naked ring finger, finding yourself jealous at the idea of Spencer still wearing his.

I should never have thrown it at him.

“Y/N, you’re being stupid,” you spit, closing your eyes as you turn and press your back against the tree trunk. “You were in this beautiful place with a intelligent man who wanted nothing more than to get to know you. What happened, Y/N?”

As you plead with yourself, casting your worries to the wind, you hear the driver get into the car and close his door, thankful for the illusion of privacy that he was giving you.

“Spencer is good, Y/N. And kind. And smart. And perfect…”

Feeling your frustration well inside, you throw your arms out, casting it out into the horizon.

“He wanted to get to know you…really know you…so what if you were scared!? He was probably scared, too It’s not like you were the only person affected by this situation!!”

You knew you looked like a crazy person talking to yourself, but you didn’t care.

“Selfish, Y/N. You’re so selfish! Why were you so petrified at the realization that he had left? If you didn’t care, if you didn’t want him here…if you really and truly didn’t want him burrowing into your life…why were you so hurt when you realized he had actually left!?”

Chuckling to yourself, your voice growing to a holler, you continue.

“And…AND…if you didn’t want him in some way, shape, or form, why did you get jealous of the front desk girl when she was hitting on him!?”

Smiling maniacally, you push yourself off of the tree and close your eyes, swinging your arms out once more as the wind begins to howl around you.

“Because you wanted him around, Y/N! That’s why!” you yell, raising your face to the sky as relief washes over your triumphant admittance of the truth.

Finally, a little honesty in your life.

“Ma’am,” the driver says, clearing his throat, “We need to get you to the airport if you are going to catch your flight.”

Sighing, you drop your hands, your back hunching as you realize that it never was the man’s fault…it never was Scott’s fault, and it never was Spencer’s fault.

It had always been yours.

Did Scott have to cheat on you? No. But were you blameless in the matter. No. You didn’t have to give him sex. Sex was just something else to do…icing on the cake, if you will. But giving him nothing? That’s not his fault.

…and it wasn’t Spencer’s either.

You had to give them something. Anything.

Emotion. Memories. Experiences. Fears…

Something.

Slowly reeling yourself back into reality, you knew what you had to do. You knew it was going to be hard, and you knew it was going to be scary, and you even knew it was going to be rocky.

But you had to do it.

Because even guarded people deserve to be loved.

And even more than that…Spencer deserves to be loved.

Hopping in to the car, you click your seat-belt around your waist, a smile forming across your lips as you open your phone to send yet another text message to Spencer.

You hadn’t heard back from him with any of the previous messages, but you were hoping and praying that he was at least reading them.

Heading to my flight. Coffee when I get back? We really need to talk.

And just before you send the text message, you scroll thru your pictures, coming across the drunken wedding photos you had found during your trip to the vineyard. Clicking on a picture of the two of you kissing at the alter, your hands in each others hair as the magistrate gives a “thumbs up” in the background, you attach it to the message as you hear the “whoosh” of the message being sent, nodding to the driver in return as you feel the car slowly pull away from the tree, leaving your past alongside of it to make room for your future.

And, hopefully, your future included Spencer.


	11. Brush Off

You hadn’t received any messages back from Spencer, and the few times you had tried to call him, it shot directly to his voicemail.

Maybe his phone’s just off.

No matter, you were about to head in to work, and you knew you would see him there. You could give him the note, along with a verbal sentiment imploring him to get lunch with you today. You really needed to talk. You know, to make things right. To tell him your revelations.

To tell him how you felt…

Walking in to work with a spring in your step, Morgan turns his head and beams at you.

“Well, look at you, all happy and peppy. Come here, girl,” he says, enveloping you in a hug. “We missed you.”

“Y/N!” Garcia squeals, shuffling over to you and giving you a huge hug. “You have got to tell me all about your night with Spencer. That shy little thing won’t say a damn word about it!”

“I promise,” you say thru your chuckling, trying to peel yourself away from a team that had clearly missed you. You had caught Spencer out of the corner of your eye, and you were desperate to get over to him.

“Hey, Spencer,” you say, smiling at him as he sips his coffee.

“Hey,” he says, not looking up to meet your glance.

“Ooooooh, first name basis,” Garcia whispers to Prentiss, “Means the night went well,” she muses, wiggling her eyebrows up and down as Prentiss elbows her in her side as the two clearly eavesdrop onto your conversation.

Furrowing your brow slightly, you take the coffee cup from his hands, hearing him moan as you set it down beside him.

“She took his coffee cup!” Garcia whispers harshly, her eyes widening as she looks over at Prentiss. “Did you see that!?”

“Here, this is for you,” you say, handing him the bulky letter envelope.

As he looks at it with a blank stare, he chuckles airily and shakes his head, his eyes registering nothing but astonishment.

“You are astounding,” he says, his eyes finally coming up to meet yours.

And as your smile slowly sinks off of your face, the fury behind Spencer’s eyes continues to grow.

“We aren’t on vacation anymore, Y/L/N,” he says, tossing the envelope off to the side.

Your brow furrowing in confusion, you notice that the team has taken a few steps towards you guys, Hotch standing in the corner with his arms crossed, studying you both.

“It’s back to reality,” he says lowly, looking to both of his sides before glancing down, imploring your eyes to follow.

And as you look down, you realize that his ring is no longer on his finger.

Deep breaths, Y/N. What did you expect?

You attempt to brush it off, trying desperately to steer the conversation back onto it’s track.

“Oh, I figured, you know? What with work and everyone asking questions…it’s not a big deal,” you muse gently, leaning in to him as you try to take his hands within yours.

“Y/L/N!” he squeals, rearing back at your touch as he yanks his hands from yours.

Blinking rapidly, trying to keep your tears at bay, you ask, “Why are you calling me by my last name, Spencer?”

You could feel the courage slowly draining from your body as his hesitant eyes grow cold as he brings his gaze back up to meet yours.

“Look around you,” he says, spreading his arms out before reaching down for his coffee cup again, taking the envelope he threw on the counter and shoving it into his back pocket.

“Back. To. Reality.” he enunciates.

Feeling the last drop of courage, and color, drain from your body, your shoulders slump as your gaze casts downward.

“I’m sorry…” you mumble, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Me, too,” he offers up, his voice softening slowly. “I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking…trying to get a woman like you to stay with a boy like me.”

“What is that supposed to mean!?” you exclaim, knowing full good and well that the team is staring at the two of you now.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to make the two of us work…” he trails off, his eyes glistening over as he starts to blink rapidly.

“Just drop it,” he says flatly, pushing beside you and slinking off to his desk, doubling back to grab his coffee mug that you had taken from his hands earlier.

Grabbing on to his arm, his coffee spilling over the edge, he strikes a look back at you as a tear spills down your cheek.

“Just read the note,” you whisper, begging him to listen.

Pulling away, he walks back to his desk just as Rossi walks up to take his place.

“What happened between the two of you?” he asks, his eyebrow cocked in the air as he watches Spencer sulk back to his desk.

And as you stay silent, staring at Spencer’s defeated body hanging over his desk, you curse under your breath as you grab your cup off coffee, taking your go-bag with you and hustling up into the meeting room, closing the door behind you just before the shaking completely overtakes your body…your coffee visibly trembling in your hands as Hotch eyes you through the window, his eyes concerned as he looks back from you to Spencer, wondering how to fix what has already been so broken.


	12. The Beans

The next couple of weeks were tense. Hotch had grounded you to HQ, which made you jump to the assumption that Spencer was more needed in the field than you, and it only served to drag your spirits down more. You fielded random calls from your desk, helped Garcia whenever she needed an extra set of hands, took calls at 3 in the morning whenever you were dead asleep at an attempt to make you feel useful, and video-conferenced in whenever you felt you had something on the case.

Which was never, because it seemed that Spencer always came to those specific conclusions just before you called.

You had practically gotten used to the one-ring-hang-up noise from your phone.

You started to wonder if the team was even in need of you at this point.

Sitting at your desk, phone calls all ringing to voicemail, Garcia taps on your door.

“Y/N?” she asks meekly, your head slowly turning to her direction. “Hotch has been trying to get you on the phone. I wanted to come make sure you were alright.”

Sighing, you open up your laptop and video conference him, Hotch appearing on the screen with a very disapproving look on his face.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, his voice stern and his eyebrow high.

“Yes sir, just a little distracted,” you say, sighing with every word.

“Well, have you found anything looking thru the file and using Garcia as an aid?” he asks, a worried Spencer now emerging in the background, furrowing his brow as he sees how tired you are.

“No sir, I think between her and Spencer they have it covered,” you retort, your exhaustion finally getting the best of you.

Hearing Hotch sigh, his voice softens and he says, “Y/L/N, I know you’re upset about being at HQ, but until you can get your head back in the game, it’s safer if you’re there. You not only put yourself at risk, but you risk the lives of those around you, being as distracted as you are right now.“

“Oh, and Reid does have his head in the game?” you shoot back, seeing him visibly wince at you using his last name. “Like you weren’t complaining last week to Rossi about how distracted he was, and yet I’m still here and he is still traveling…which only tells me one thing.”

“And what is that?” he voice tenses, Spencer widening his eyes and shaking his head in the background, begging and pleading silently with you to stop.

“That you need to wrap your head around the fact that you’re not my father. You can’t force me to make time for an evening with someone to get to know them better, you can’t force me to not be distracted when the only thing distracting me is the fact that it’s clear that Reid is more of an asset to this team than I will ever be, and that you can’t force me to just ‘cheer up’ when the man that I have grown to love can’t even so much as look at me because of how far I’ve pushed him over the brink!”

Watching Hotch continuously blink, Spencer’s eyes widen in the background as you hear Garcia suck in a sharp breath of air.

Realizing what you just said and the tone you’ve said it in, you open your mouth to defend yourself.

“Boss…I-”

You try to reason your way out, scanning thru your mental imageries in a last ditch effort to find some way of back-pedaling out of this horrid scenario you have, once again, created. But, with his hand raised, Hotch stops you in your tracks, closing his eyes and sighing before he proceeds.

“Go home,” he says.

“W-what?” you stammer.

“Go. Home.”

And with that, the conference calls cuts, and you are left alone.

Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hotch…” Spencer says, taking a step towards him as Hotch spins around, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and I don’t know if what just flew out of her mouth is true. But whatever it is…go home and fix it.”

“But, the case-” Spencer tries to defend himself.

“Go. Home. Now. Fix it, and don’t come back until you do. Either of you.”

“Boss-” Spencer tries to change his mind.

“Go, Reid!”

As Spencer looks at Morgan, pleading for a ride back to the hotel, Morgan puts his hand on his shoulder and guides him out to the car.

“I need to get my things, and get to the airport,” Spencer says.

“It’ll be faster for you to just drive,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer the keys.

“Then why are you getting in to the car with me?” Spencer inquires, his brow furrowed.

“Because you’re going to tell me everything that has happened between you two in the span of the 15 minutes it will take to get us from this police station to the hotel, starting with the question: ‘What the hell have the two of you done?’“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sulking onto the elevator, Garcia gives you a great big hug, along with promises to come over tonight with lots of wine and fruit to jumpstart a weekend of sulking. She tries to reassure you, telling you that at one point in time or another, they have all yelled at Hotch over something that they feel he is doing wrong.

Then, she tried to reassure you that, though it didn’t feel like it now, Hotch had always been right.

Sighing, you let the elevator doors close, your head pounding from the last few weeks, your mind whirling from the fact that you had just told off your boss via video-conference because you were angry at your fake husband for being more important than you.

Good god.

Laughing in disbelief, you start towards your car, not understanding that a couple of hours away, Spencer was telling Morgan all about your wedding right now, in the hopes that someone, for once, would be on his side.

As Garcia sighs and turns from the elevator, she spots the envelope she had seen you give Spencer a couple of weeks ago, the contents of it sprawled out underneath all the paperwork on boy wonder’s desk.

Curiosity getting the best of her, she meanders over, slowly shifting the papers to the side as she gets giddy at the sight of pictures.

Picking them up, her eyes begin to widen as she realizes that the contents of the pictures are from you and Spencer’s drunken night, everything from the shots you drank to the wedding chapel…progressing with the two of you curled up in bed together, kissing furiously as you take pictures…and finally, ending with a loving picture of the you both with your foreheads pressed together, your wedding rings in the forefront of the picture with your fingers intertwined.

Picking up her cell phone, she dials Morgan’s number as fast as she can.

“Talk to me, baby girl,” he says.

“My sweet chocolate desire! Oh my god! I know what’s wrong with them!” she says, huffing into the phone as she tries to spit out all the words at once.

“Baby girl, breathe…breathe, sweetheart,” he coos.

“Didn’t you hear me, Morgan!? They got married!” she squeals.

“I know,” Morgan says as he waves Spencer off in the black SUV.

“I know.”


	13. Profession

As Spencer speeds down the highway, the rain pounding against the windshield, he rehearses his speech in his mind as the street lights blaze past him, quickly fading into the background of the nighttime sky.

I’m coming, Y/N.

Flicking on his turn signal, he veers off of the exit, his car hydroplaning on a puddle of water, desperate to get to you before you locked yourself away for the evening.

Please still be up. Please still be up.

He wasn’t backing down without a fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slamming your door, you throw your go-bag against your coffee table, tipping it over as you yank your phone from your soaked jacket pocket, pulling it apart and dumping it in a bowl of rice.

“What a perfect ending to a perfect day,” you spit, peeling your drenched clothes off and meandering to the bathroom.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, your make up running in to each other, you wipe the coating of fake off of your face as you take in your true, haggard appearance: your sunken in eyes, your thinned out face, and even your slightly chapped lips. You couldn’t sleep and didn’t have an appetite these past couple of weeks, and when it started to show you had resurrected the art of contouring.

“Fucking note,” you slam your washcloth onto the bathroom countertop.

“Fucking vacation,” you spit, slamming your bathroom door shut behind you as your voice grows.

“Fucking EMOTIONAL WALLS!” you yell, kicking your soaking wet clothes out of your way as you slip and fall on the slick spot they left.

Slamming your butt onto the kitchen floor, you crawl into the corner of the room and curl your knees up to your chest, sobbing into your legs as the pain ricochets thru your body.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe the tears from your face and sluggishly walk back into your bedroom, finding an over-sized shirt to throw on as you flop down on your bed. Feeling your feet grow cold, you reach into your bedside drawer and pull out knee-high neon-colored fuzzy socks. Your feet were frozen from the massive puddles coming home, and you were prepared to cuddle up all night on the couch and drink massive amounts of wine with Garcia.

Hearing your phone buzz, you pick it up and read the message from Penelope.

Can’t make it. Running a slight fever. Rain check?

Feeling your throat constrict, you take a deep breath to steady your hands enough to message back.

Don’t worry about it. Feel better, and let me know if you need anything.

Throwing your phone off to the side, you wrap yourself up in your comforter, dragging yourself to the living area, and just as you go to sit down you hear a knock at the door.

“Oh, for the love of-”

Traipsing over to the door, you fling it open, ready to curse the person behind it, until you look up and are met with those eyes.

Those mesmerizing, beautiful brown eyes.

“Hi, Y/N,” Spencer says. “Could I come in?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on your couch, your eyes aglow with a mixture of wonder and surprise, you motion for Spencer to sit.

As the two of you stare for quite some time, he slowly raises his hands to your face, lightly fingering the sinkholes under your cheekbones as he reaches for his cell phone.

“Yes, China King? I would like an order of Sesame chicken, a large order of vegetable lo mein, and a large order of crab rangoon. Yes, by cash. The address is…”

As you listen to him spout off your address, you allow the tears to crest your eyes and freely flow, catching Spencer’s attention as he hangs up hastily and pulls you close.

“Oh, my god,” you sob in to his chest, his face buried in your hair as you throw your arms around him.

“What have I done?” you choke out, feeling Spencer pull you up in to his lap.

“It’s ok. Hotch isn’t angry…he’s the one who sent me out here,” Spencer muses lowly in your ear.

“I’m not talking about Hotch,” you say, growing frustrated as you push Spencer away. “I’m talking about us!”

As Spencer stares at you with wild eyes, he tries to keep his lips from turning up at the corners.

“I ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m not hungry, and when I do eat, I puke. I can’t sleep at night without waking up a million times with a burning desire to call you, and I can’t focus on work because I’m too busy wondering if the team would even miss me if I leave because they don’t seem to be struggling at all without me there!”

Panting, you throw yourself off of Spencer’s lap, your anger welling inside of you.

“And it’s exhausting that everything has to be a damn fight!”

Putting your head in your hands, you feel Spencer slide to the floor, shuffling on his knees as he situates himself in between your fuzzy-socked legs.

Silently, he tilts your gaze to his, taking your hands and sliding them under his shirt collar, keeping his eyes locked on you until both of your hands are situated on his shoulders.

“Whenever you feel angry,” he says, putting his hands on your bare knees, “take a deep breath and squeeze my shoulders.”

Furrowing your brow, your eyes searching his desperately, he smiles lightly at you and chuckles.

“This won’t change anything overnight, but it will help you take steps. And no…you won’t hurt me…I promise.”

As he smirks at you, you feel your body relax as his gentle eyes calm your conflicted soul, and just as you are about to start talking…the doorbell rings.

“But first?” he says, raising his hands to run his thumbs along the bags under your eyes, “….you eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking small bites at a time, Spencer eyes you carefully as you slowly chew and swallow.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not so much pukey as I am nervous,” you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

“Nervous about what?” he inquires, eyeing you over his fork full of Sesame chicken.

“Nervous about…you know…on the video-conference call?” you whisper, begging him to fill it in.

“Say it,” he coos, putting his food down and scooting closer to you.

“No…,” you plead, shaking your head as Spencer gets on his knees again.

“Trust yourself,” Spencer lowers his voice, your hands on his shoulders as you squeeze down.

“Trust me…” he whispers, his voice begging and urgent.

“I…” you pause, bearing down on his shoulders as he squeezes your knees.

“I love you…Spencer,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice cracking.

Shooting your eyes up at him, you see tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Oh, Spencer,” you muse, taking your hands and wiping his tears away with your thumbs.

“Do you mean it?” he asks, his voice trembling and his breath ragged.

“Yes,” you breathe, smiling at him as the corners of his lips twitch again, relief finally overcoming your weak, tortured body.

“Thank god,” he sighs, taking your face lightly in his hands. “Because if you hadn’t, this would have been awkward.”

Furrowing your forehead, he slowly moves his face to yours, cocking his head to the side as he smiles, his breath hot on your lips.

“…because I love you, too.“

And just as you go to gasp at the words…the words you had hoped and pleaded would drip from his lips, Spencer slowly dips his mouth down onto yours, sending a warmth cascading down your spine, deep into your gut.

Spencer was kissing you.

Spencer Reid was kissing you.

Drawing your hands around his neck, you run your fingers thru his hair, pulling his crouching body flush to your chest as your legs part wider to accept his entire torso.

Feeling him wrap your legs around his waist, you lock your feet as you feel yourself being lifted up off of the couch, turning as Spencer sits back down, your body sliding closer to him as you sit in his lap with your face buried in his neck.

“Finish your dinner with me,” he muses, low and soft into your ear.

Cocking an eyebrow in the air playfully, you lean back and look into his eyes.

“Come again?” you sing-song.

“Finish your dinner with me,” he says, taking your hands within his and drawing them up for a kiss.

“Please?” he asks, his voice turning up as his puppy dog eyes take over his face.

“Spencer Reid, are you asking me out on a date that we are, technically, already on?”

“Yes, I am,” he says, his beautiful eyes fusing with his playful smirk in a whirling attempt to make you crumble at your knees.

Good thing you aren’t standing.

“Absolutely,” you whisper, planting another light kiss on his lips, letting them linger ever so lightly as you feel him shudder underneath you.

“Lo mein, please,” you demand, wiggling your eyebrows as you shoot your arm out across his chest in a feeble attempt to portray that you can’t reach your food.

Hearing him groan mockingly as you tumble off of his lap, he hands you your food as he scoots closer, his body heat radiating over your body as the two of you eat and talk…addressing everything from favorite colors to favorite childhood memories.

And for the first time in your life, you felt yourself trusting someone with your true emotions, guiding yourself not with your mind…but with your heart.


	14. Transfer Papers

Your weekend was filled with heart-felt conversations. You had told him more about your family, about the fights and the debates and the constant scrutiny, and he told you about how his relationship with his father was incredibly complicated, and what it was like when he left him and his mother behind. You had held each other thru the stressful parts, and laughed alongside each other as you rejoiced and recanted positive memories of your yesteryears.

For the first time in your life, you were comfortable with dusting off your layers.

Spencer made you feel…at home. Wherever he was, you felt comfortable, and wherever he wasn’t, you felt lost.

That’s why, when Monday morning came, you ended up sticking your foot in your mouth again.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Reid!”

Whipping your heads up as you step off of the elevator, you both see Morgan waving his hand in the air at the two of you, Garcia beaming at his side as you furrow your brow, looking over at Spencer as he gives you a sheepish look.

“Um…so, Friday…you know, when I was coming to see you?” he stammers.

“You didn’t,” you plead with him, realizing that if Morgan knew, then Garcia knew…and if Garcia knew…

“Well, if it isn’t the bride and groom,” Rossi smirks as he comes around the corner.

“It’s about time the two of you confessed your secret feelings for one another,” J.J. says, teasing you two on your Vegas marriage.

You can see Spencer shaking his head furiously in your peripheral, silently begging everyone to stop the teasing.

“What is it, lover boy?” Emily comes up and slaps his shoulder, “Did you think you could keep this a secret forever?”

“Oh, no worries,” you pipe up, swallowing hard as your face turns every shade of red possible. “It’s just temporary.”

As everyone stops teasing the two of you, you look over at Spencer, wide-eyed and…

You couldn’t figure out the other expression on his face.

Cocking your head lightly, you nudge Spencer with your elbow.

“R-right…Spencer…?”

Trailing off, realizing you had said something wrong, you reach for his hand, trying to take it in yours as he pulls it away.

“I didn’t mean-I just…I just meant that-”

“I know what you meant,” he clips you off, turning his back on you and walking away.

“Oh, and for everyone else,” he says, spinning on his heels before walking down the hallway, “Not everyone on this team can handle the constant scrutiny you put everyone’s life under. She gets it enough from her family, she doesn’t need it from her co-workers.”

Feeling your throat constrict from the embarrassment, you dip your flush-red face down to your feet as you hear Spencer march off, leaving behind a confused set of co-workers and a very lost temporary wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally coming to, you find yourself in Hotch’s office, sitting down with your bag at your side.

“Y/N? You there?” Hotch asks, waving his hand lightly.

“Huh? Oh, uh…yes…what?”

Looking around at his office, Hotch repeats what you had just requested.

“Are you sure?” he asks again.

“Sure of what?” you ask, bringing your gaze back to his.

“About this transfer?”

Holding up paperwork, he waves it in your face as you crinkle your forehead, not realizing you had filled any out.

“I-um…w-where…did that come from?” you stutter.

“You,” Hotch says, his facial expression growing worried. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yes, no…I mean…I filled that paperwork out quite some time ago,” you say, remembering back a few months ago when you had requested it from Strauss.

“I remember, I walked in on you filling it out in Strauss’ office,” Hotch says, trying to job your memory.

Oh, yeah.

“And you just sat down and handed it to me…” he trails off, searching your face for any sign of recognition.

“Ok…”

“What this is asking is a request for-”

“I know what it’s asking, Hotch,” you bite off, suddenly finding your surge of emotion, “And…well, maybe…maybe my subconscious is doing what I don’t have the guts to do myself.”

“So, you want me to honor the paperwork?” he asks, a hesitant expression on his face.

Turning to look out his office door window, you catch sight of Spencer setting something on your desk, the glimmer of the present catching the light as a tear runs down your face.

“I think it’s best for everyone, yes,” you choke out.

“You will be missed,” Hotch says, rustling papers as he picks up the phone.

Nodding slowly, you get up from your seat, your hand on the doorknob as Hotch calls out your name.

“Y/N?”

Turning around slowly, your red, puffy eyes meeting his, his face softens, and you could swear you saw a glint of a tear in the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry,” he lowers his voice.

Giving him a weak smile, you slowly open his office door, walking out into the light as you shut it behind you.

Meandering down to your desk, your go-bag in hand, you tiptoe over to your desk, the team raising their eyes to watch your every move as you pick up the ring sitting amongst all of the papers scattered across your desk.

Spencer’s wedding ring.

Twirling it in your fingers, tears finally spill down your cheeks, and as J.J. leaps up to try and give you a hug, you hold up your hand, your glare stopping her in her tracks.

“If you take nothing away from my being here…remember this: Spencer and I may fight, and banter, and disagree…but they way you all tease with each other can be just as detrimental to either of us as our ‘fighting’ was detrimental to you.”

And with that, Hotch comes out onto the balcony.

“Meeting in 20.”

Slowly slipping his ring onto your middle finger, the only finger it would stay on, you grab your go-bag and head in the opposite direction, the team looking upon you in curiosity and concern as they head for the room, and you head for your apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello?”

Spencer had decided to answer his vibrating phone while he was in the bathroom trying to put himself together.

“Yes, is this Mr. Reid?” the random voice on the other end asks.

“Yes, yes it is,” he says, furrowing his brow.

“This is Mrs. Vanklemeir from the Las Vegas Courthouse. I am calling about your annulment request.”

As Spencer’s jaw unhinges lightly, he realizes that he had completely forgotten about the annulment paperwork.

“Mr. Reid?”

“Y-yes. Sorry, yes. What is it? I-is something wrong with the paperwork?” he stammers.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Reid. I just need your go-ahead before we can push the paperwork thru. A courtesy call, to make sure the annulment is still wanted.”

Did he really want the annulment?

He said he wanted to be part of the decision process…

“Um…how long do I have to think about it?” he asks.

“Well, we still have to call Miss. Y/L/N. If you’d like, I could call her first and then call you back,” she suggests.

“Yeah. Um…just, whatever she says to do, just put that down as my answer,” Spencer says.

“Are you sure, sir?”

Doesn’t really matter now.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Alright, sir. Have a nice day.”

And with that, the phone call was done.

Sighing, he slips the phone back in to his pocket and walks back out into the hallway.

“Reid! Come on, we got a case,” Morgan yells, beckoning for Spencer to come on.

Picking up his pace, Morgan and him rush up the steps in to the room, scanning the room for a seat, realizing that you aren’t there.

“Where’s Y/N?” Spencer asks, looking over at Morgan.

“She’s being transferred,” Hotch clips, his eyes glazed over.

And as Spencer stands there staring at Hotch, tears welling in his eyes and spilling over on to his cheeks, he runs out of the room and down the stairs, tripping over a chair as he races for the elevator.

“Reid!” Hotch calls out to no avail.

“Spencer!!” Emily dashes after him, not moving far once Morgan puts his hands on her shoulders.

“Let him go,” Morgan commands, leading everyone back in to the room. “It’s time he sorted this out without interference.”


	15. Change of Pace

Walking blindly in to your apartment, you set everything gently on the floor.

Your mind abuzz, you set your cell phone on the counter, slowly walking into your room.

Standing in front of your full-length mirror, you slowly begin to undress…piece, by piece…until all of your clothes are cast to the side.

Staring at your naked form in the mirror, nothing but Spencer’s ring on your left middle finger, you think back thru the tumultuous 7 weeks that you have had, slowly swaying as your mind locks you in to place, your eyes deadpan as the ring continues to glisten, taunting you in the mirror.

Slowly lobbing your head off to the side, your focus in the mirror slowly lands on your breasts, lingering as you watch your chest rise and fall, the only evidence you have of still living in this current dimension.

You could feel the battle raging inside. The battle between the person you are comfortable with and the person you want to be. Pulling constantly at your thoughts, chanting slogans and jargon silently in your mind as the two wage war within your body…

And you had the war-torn scars to prove it.

You could feel yourself slowly slipping away…slowly slipping back into the person you were nurtured to be, instead of blossoming into the woman you had only dreamt of becoming.

These weeks had been too much. Your emotions had been put thru the wringer, your mind had been in a constant state of whirring, your body had toggled more in weight than when you had hit puberty, and your body was unwilling to sleep, despite the constant haze of exhaustion you found yourself in every morning as you watched the minutes tick by on the clock in your room.

You were slowly slipping…

And then suddenly…a banging on the door.

Boom boom boom!

Ignoring it, you continue to stare, slowly walking towards the mirror as your eyes grow wild.

Boom boom boom!

You feel your frustration growing for the weak little girl you see in the mirror, the little girl under constant ridicule, constant scrutiny, and constantly arguing with her family.

Slowly, but surely, you raise your fist and bring your gaze back up to your face.

“You! Disgust! Me!”

Plummeting your fist into the glass, shattering the mirror into a million pieces, you hear a voice in the background call out your name.

“Y/N!”

Looking down at your fist, your knuckles cut and bleeding, a shard sticking out of the top of your hand, you cock your head as your eyes begin to water as Spencer comes careening around the corner into your bedroom, his gun drawn.

“Oh my god, Y/N.”

Holstering his gun, he rushes to your side, his eyes widening at your naked state before taking your bleeding hand in his, grimacing at the glass sticking out.

“I thought someone was in here with you…” he mutters, explaining away the door frame that now had to be fixed.

With your vacant stare glued on Spencer, you take a deep breath as he turns to talk away, seemingly searching for a First Aid Kit.

“Please don’t say yes,” you choke out in a frail voice.

Turning around and shooting his gaze up to yours, he grunts as he rips his shirts off, taking his black undershirt and wrapping it around your hand.

“W-what?” he asks, his eyes fiery as his gaze comes back up to yours, lingering on your breasts before coming up to your eyes.

“When they call about the annulment…please don’t say yes.”

As Spencer blinks rapidly at you, his grip tightening around your hand, you wince as he comes back to reality, loosening his grip but not letting go.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Just give me more time,” you whisper, the tears rumbling down your cheeks. “I-I know that…I know that I’m shit at this now…but if you give me time, a bit of practice maybe…I could, you know…I could be a really good partner, o-o-o-or wife…if you just…”

Sobbing now, the emotion eating the words in your throat, Spencer pulls your naked body flush to his, gripping you tightly as a smile crosses his face.

Burying his head in your hair, he chuckles lightly as his hands slowly caress down your back. “They called earlier, and I told them to volley the question to you. If you say no, I say no. That’s what I told them.”

“Please don’t say no,” you whisper to yourself in his chest, your body wracking itself with sobs as the blood from your hand starts to drip onto the floor.

“Marriage or no marriage, I will always be here,” he mumbles in to your hair, worry crossing his face as he peeks back down at your arm.

“Now, we need to get you dressed, Mrs. Reid, because we need to get you to an Urgent Care.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking back in to the apartment, your hand numb and bandaged, Spencer gets Hotch on the phone and tells him the situation…well, summarizes the situation…and Hotch says that you all will sit down and figure out what to do with everything when they get back from New York.

“And Spencer?” Hotch asks.

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot if you think that woman doesn’t love you,” Hotch states before hanging up the phone.

Stuffing his work phone back into his pocket, he goes in search of you, finding you on the edge of your bed with your phone to your ear.

“Yes, Mrs. Vanklemeir, I understand.”

As Spencer hears who you are talking to, he stops at the door, backing around the corner as he listens to the conversation.

“He said that, huh?” you say, your voice upticking with wonder as the woman on the other end talks incoherently.

After a brief pause, Spencer’s stomach bile practically making room in his throat, he swallows hard as he hears you continue to talk.

“Well then, no. I don’t think those paper will need to be processed. Thank you very much for the courtesy call. No, no ma’am. No postponement. Just get rid of the papers.”

Sighing as you hang up the phone, you pick your gaze up to look out the window, processing what you had just done.

I’m married.

Chuckling lightly, tears of happiness springing to your eyes, you feel a sense of fulfillment and relief flood your body as you repeat what you had thought out loud.

“I’m married.”

Standing up and turning towards the kitchen, you start out of your bedroom, looking around for Spencer and finding only a note on the kitchen counter.

Gone in search of something. Be back soon. I’ll come with dinner.

And as you smile to yourself, picking up the note and holding it to your chest, you squelsh the urge to text Spencer, convincing yourself that this is something definitely worth telling him in person.


	16. Consummation

Sitting on the couch, the numbness finally wearing off of your hand, you rummage in search of pain medication. Looking high and low, you hear your door open up and the smell of pizza waft into the room.

Feeling your mouth salivate, you take a huge swallow, suddenly nervous at the news for Spencer.

“Spencer, did the doctor give you any pain medication for me?” you ask as you pick yourself up off of the floor.

Hearing him set the pizza box down, you hear him begin to rummage, still not saying anything.

Furrowing your brow, you stand up, wincing at the pain shooting thru your hand as you turn and take him in.

“Found it,” Spencer says, turning around slowly as he holds the orange bottle out to you.

“Thanks…” you say tentatively, worry creeping up in to your stomach.

Did I make the right decision.

Struggling to open the medicine bottle, Spencer takes it from you, his fingers lightly grazing yours, as he pops the bottle open with a smirk, dumping a pill out and handing it to you.

“What would you do without me?” he jokes, a smile finally crossing his cheeks for the first time since he returned.

Alright. Smiling. Smiling’s good.

“So, I got a call while you were out,” you start.

“Oh?” Spencer says, opening the pizza box and handing you a slice.

“From a Mrs. Vanlkemeir from the Vegas Courthouse,” you say as your wrinkle your nose, still chuckling over her name.

“Yeah?” he asks nervously, drifting off as he picks up a slice of pizza and takes a bite.

As silence descends on the conversation, Spencer slowly lifts his gaze to you, swallowing the pizza bite in his mouth and shoving his hands in his pockets as he lightly kicks at the invisible rock on the floor.

“So…where do we stand?” Spencer asks, seemingly defeated.

Realizing the toll that this ordeal has taken on him, you stride over and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as you place light kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Unfortunately, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you muse lowly in his ear.

His eyebrows shooting up, he pulls his head back to look in to your eyes, searching for any sign of sarcasm.

“So…we’re…”

“Married,” you say, a surprised smirk crossing your face.

And just as quick as your blink, his lips were on yours, his tongue probing desperately for entrance as his hands shot up the back of your shirt, pressing his fingertips into the mid-section of your back.

Moaning into the kiss, he pulls back, releasing your lips from his as he kisses the tip of your nose, a sigh emanating from your lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” Spencer whispers.

“And I love you,” you respond, a tear glistening in the corner of your eye.

Feeling a sensation behind the back of your legs, you feel yourself suddenly being lifted from the floor, your body hovering in Spencer’s arms as he slowly carries you back in to the bedroom, laying you on the bed as his body floats above yours.

Bringing his lips down do your neck, he slowly sucks in a bare piece of skin, his warm lips pressed against your throbbing vein as his tongue flicks the exposed area, sending shivers down to your breasts, puckering your nipples.

Letting out a ragged breath, Spencer’s hand wanders down to your chest, taking your breast in his hand, his fingertips teasing your sensitive nipple thru your layers as his hot breath covers your reddening neck.

As your hands slowly migrate to his hair, running your fingers thru it’s comforting softness, your legs slowly part, accepting his body as his soft lips find yours again in a slow, deep, fervent kiss.

“I want to ask you something,” he mumbles, his lips moving against yours.

“Anything,” you breathe, your entire body throbbing for his.

Feeling him shift off of you, you groan lightly with disappointment, a chuckle ensuing from your clear and utter frustration.

“Patience,” he says, that sly confidence slowly creeping back into his intonation.

Tilting over towards him, you see him off of the bed, kneeling as he pulls something out of his pocket.

Furrowing your brow, you scoot over to the edge, sitting there as your eyes begin to widen.

My ring.

Holding it up to you, Spencer clears his throat, his eyes turning red as he proceeds with his speech.

“Y/N, these past few weeks have been…well…interesting. And while we have had our share of tumultuous moments, we have proven that we can muddle thru them. We have proven that we work well as a team, and we have proven that our hearts were made for each other even before we realized it.”

Feeling your eyes widen, you look down at your ring in his hand, your entire body starting to shake with emotion.

“And I know we didn’t do this the way you had planned, but I am thankful, nonetheless, that we are doing it.”

As tears start to well in your eyes, you see Spencer smile as a tear finally escapes down his cheek.

“Mrs. Reid,” he says with an air of disbelief in his voice, “Will you renew your vows with me?”

As your jaw unhinges and yours tears spill on to your flushed chest, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close, his arms tightening around you as you hold each other close.

“Yes,” you whisper, slipping Spencer’s ring off of your finger and leaning back up.

“Yes. I will.”

As the two of you exchange rings, slipping them back on to your respective ring fingers, Spencer looks up at you with darkened eyes, his innocent face contorting into a mischievous one.

And as he slowly leans you back down on to the bed, his body crawling on top of yours as his hands wander around under your shirt, you let out a sigh of relief as he presses his body down and leans into your ear.

“I believe we have set the record for longest time between wedding ceremony and consummation,” he muses lowly in your ear.

“Then don’t wait a second longer,” you growl, ripping his shirt above his head as his lips come crashing down from on high, filling every crevice of your body with want as he slowly starts to undo the button of your jeans.


	17. Epilogue

“You look incredible,” Emily muses as she turns you towards the full-length mirror.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed…oh, here!”

“Garcia,” you moan, watching her approach you as she clasps a pearl necklace around you.

“There,” she says, beaming as you lightly finger the necklace.

“This is beautiful,” you breathe, turning to her with your eyes wide. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s been in my family for quite some time,” she says, “So take very good care of it.”

Wrapping your arms around her neck, she squeezes you close and smile. “You look radiant, lovely.”

“Hey, the guys are ready, how are we lookin’ in here?” J.J. asks as she pokes her head in, her jaw unhinging when she sees you.

“You look…stunning,” she says, smiling as she comes to give you a hug. “I never thought I would be this dressed up in a place like this.”

“First time for everything,” you say, the girls chuckling along with you at the irony of the statement.

“I’ll go let the guys know you’re ready,” J.J. muses, slipping out the door.

“J.J.!” you yell as she sticks her head back in.

“Could you, uh…could you tell Hotch to come here?” you ask, fiddling with the end of your veil as you cast your eyes downward.

“Sure,” she says, disappearing and yelling for Aaron.

“We’ll see you out there,” Emily says, giving you a light kiss on your cheek as her and Garcia make their way to the chapel entryway.

“Hey, you wanted t-”

Standing in the doorway, taking in your figure as your mermaid dress hugs your curves and flares out at your knees, Hotch takes a deep breath and smiles.

“You look incredible,” he says, holding his hands out to take yours. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…everything’s fine. Listen, I…I never did thank you, you know…for not pushing the transfer paperwork thru despite what I had asked.”

Hearing him chuckle lightly, he pulls you in for a hug. “It’s my job to know what my team really needs,” he says, pulling you back and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I’m gonna go find my seat out there,” he says, his smile beaming as your cheeks flush.

As he walks to the door, you reach out your hand.

“Aaron!”

Watching him slowly turn as he brow furrows, you take a step towards him before dropping your hand, dipping your gaze as you shuffle your feet.

“Would you…um…would you maybe…you know, give me away?” you ask sheepishly.

Hearing a rustling sound, you lift your head to see Hotch handing you your bouquet, offering you his arm as his smile continues to radiate around the room.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says as the two of you start for the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hearing the procession music come over the mini speaker system of the chapel, you shake your head as Hotch starts to laugh lightly.

“When you and Spencer approached me and said you wanted to d this where it all began, I thought you meant the BAU office…not a chapel in Vegas.”

Giggling as the two of you start down the aisle, you watch as Spencer lifts his head, his eyes widening as he takes in your form: the beautiful champagne-colored wedding dress clinging to your body as your veil sways lightly with every movement of your hips.

Getting to the end of the aisle, you turn to Hotch as he lifts your veil over your face, embracing you in a big hug as he hands you over to Spencer.

Turning towards the slightly-more-familiar-than-normal magistrate, he smiles and winks at you both as he leans in and says, “It’s exciting, isn’t it? Renewing your vows where you once took them. I’ve never done this before.”

Giggling as the magistrate clears his throat, he proceeds with his opening.

“Hello everyone. We are gathered in this place to renew the wedding vows of Dr. Spencer Reid and Mrs. Y/N Reid. I would say it was because they wanted to renew their love to each other, but I think it is more so because they don’t remember.”

Hearing the team laugh behind you both, you stifle a chuckle as Spencer rolls his lips back into his mouth, his face reddening as he tries not to laugh out loud.

“Nonetheless, they have chosen to proceed with this journey, and I believe they have written their own vows.”

As the magistrate nods towards Spencer, he shuffles from foot to foot as he takes out your wedding band, taking your left hand and sliding it onto your finger.

“I told myself that whenever I did get married, I would take my vows as serious as my job. And while I may not remember them clearly from that evening, they were taken nonetheless. I promise to love you despite my current feelings in any particular moment. I promise to take care of you when you are sick, have your back when no one else does, and put you first above everything else in my life. I promise to cling to you during the good times, and to never let go during the bad. I promise to always feed you before myself, to clothe you before myself, and to involve you in every decision, major or minor, that may come along and affect us both. I love you, Y/N Reid, now and for always.”

Silently thanking Garcia for using waterproof make-up, you bring your hand to your cheeks and wipe away your tears as you pull Spencer’s wedding band out of your cleavage, a chuckle emanating from the team as you take Spencer’s left hand and slip it on.

“Spencer, when I met you you were a pain in the ass.”

Stopping for the remaining chuckling to die down, you clear your throat and continue, “And even though I would have rather cooped myself up in my apartment instead of going out with the team, I did…and I got to know the incredible man that inhabits this beautiful body. And when we woke up married, I panicked. But, in hindsight, I panicked not because I was married to the best man alive, but because I thought that he would not find himself to be as lucky as me. A-and you s-showed me…”

Pausing to keep your emotions in check, Spencer takes both of your hands and squeezes, urging you to go on as tears spill down his cheeks.

“You showed me not only the beauty you say in me, but the beauty I should see in myself. And my promise to you is this: I love you, and I will always love you…and no matter where life decides to take us, I will always be there, holding your hand and helping you along.”

Hearing the sniffles come from the team behind you, Spencer wraps you in his arms as you tilt your head up to him, his lips colliding in to yours as the magistrate chuckles at you both.

Breaking away from the kiss and turning towards the team, the magistrate holds out his hands as everyone stands up from their chairs.

“I formally introduce you to the lovely couple…Dr. and Mrs. Reid.”

Processing down the aisle and heading out the double doors, a photographer waits to snap a few pictures before the team comes out, making silly faces and giving you both huge bear hugs.

“So, where to for the actual honeymoon?” Garcia asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she nudges your side.

“You are just as bad as Morgan,” you say, swatting at her as you unclasp the pearls from around your neck.

“Now, you have two weeks,” you hear Hotch say to Spencer. “Go anywhere you wish, under one condition.”

“What’s that, Hotch?” Spencer asks.

“Give me your phones. Now.”

Shaking your head as you turn to Hotch, you see Spencer smile as he hands him his phone, and as he turns to you Emily jumps in.

“Already got it,” she says, wiggling your phone in between her fingers.

“Alright!” Morgan says, rubbing his hands together as he approaches the two of you, “This limo has your luggage, and it will take you to the airport. From there, wherever you two go, we will see you in two weeks.”

Smiling broadly as you look up at Spencer, he looks back down at you and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“So, where are we off to, Dr. Reid?” you smirk, winking at him as he playfully brings his free hand to his chin to think.

“Hmmmmm…well, I know there’s a nice vineyard in Califor-”

“No,” you say flatly, a smirk playing on Spencer’s lips as he bends down and kisses your lips.

“Anywhere you want, as long as I’m there,” he mutters against your lip as the limo pulls up behind you two.

“Get in! Get in!” Morgan flippantly says as he opens the limo door.

Clamoring in and watching as Morgan shuts the door behind Spencer, you watch as the team waves you off, the limo pulling off and heading for the airport.

“So, where are you two newlyweds headed?” the driver asks, eyeing you out of the rearv-iew mirror as the two of you continue gazing in to each other’s eyes, snuggling in close as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Spencer says as a smile plays across his lips.

“Me either,” you say, nuzzling in to his neck as you listen to the sound of the wind whipping up against the car, soaring by as you leave the little Vegas chapel behind.


End file.
